


One Beat Away

by CNichole



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CNichole/pseuds/CNichole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long, busy night, Tifa gets a visit from an old friend and discovers that sometimes life gives us a chance to appreciate what we have always taken for granted. COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't you see that...

**_I just want to be with you...Can I stay?..._ **

**_One beat away, one beat away, one beat away... from my heart._ **

**_You're only one beat away from my heart._ **

**_Cicada, One Beat Away_ **

* * *

 

I saw it all ending before he even started. But I've always been a sucker for new experiences. Well, that's not entirely true—I like new experiences and I hate them. It's almost as if my mind can't resolve which side of the issue it wants to belong to, so I'm stuck with the contradiction.

Fact is: the beginning of my story is the end of another. Isn't that how the song goes: every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end? Well, this is the end, my friend.

"I want to break-up," I remember hearing myself say. Though it wasn't for the first time, if I'm being entirely truthful with myself—and I am.

"Ok," I heard him say, as if he wasn't at all surprised, as if he couldn't really be bothered to care one way or the other.

_Has he ever cared one way or the other?_ I wondered.

I have letters from him, from years ago, that I haven't trashed, though I really should. Love notes, where I'm gonna be notes, thinking of you notes. Six years ago, ages ago, lifetimes ago. He seemed to care then, but is it easier to feign interest when you never see a person? Possibly. Probably.

The road and his job took him away from me and, I think, it also kept us together. Absence makes the heart grow fonder apparently. I think the togetherness is what killed us.

"So, you can keep the cat," I said. He nodded in agreement, though the cat eventually made its way to Cid and Shera's home.

There were never any children, never will be, as far as I'm concerned. I think it's always been a bone of contention between us, even though he said he never wanted them. I can't help but think he was a liar, that what he said to my face was entirely different than what he said behind my back.

I knew, as he so frequently reminded me, what he was like before I moved in with him. I just didn't think I'd come to regret the whole thing as much as I did.

The entire discussion was painfully ascetic, kind of like our relationship: devoid of pleasure. It ended much like it began, with somewhat of a whimper, not really a bang. All that remained of some long ago promise made on top of an old well.

The stars look so very different today than they did that night. I thought those stars would guide me, shine through my life leading me into an, if not perfect, at least happy existence. How wrong you can be.

So we ended, and here I am—figuring it out. Though, to be honest, it was unfair to both of us that I didn't take the time to do this _before_ I decided to be in a relationship.

Him and I, we're just products of this new world where we all need to be instantly gratified and, when we inevitably aren't, our minds can't process the disappointment. Though six years _is_ a long time, honestly, if I don't say so—lasted longer than most people stay married these days.

Good job, pat on the back and all that, we've just grown apart, etc, etc. I'm so glad our conversation was completely devoid of those kinds of sentiments. Simple, to the point. Done.

And it ended. I moved out, door closed, moving on.

So here I am, sitting on this fucking date, with this asshole who I can't handle, because my friends hate seeing me alone. How am I always getting dragged into situations like this? I've gotten better at saying no, really I have, but I just can't stand to hurt another person's feelings.

Well. Except Cloud. I was fucking _professional_ at that.

"C'mon, Teef," Yuffie'd said with a friendly jab to the arm. "He's really cute and pretty loaded and I hear he has a HUGE—"

"YUFFIE!" I'd said, outraged.

"Well, that's just what I heard! Pertinent information is what I have—wouldn't want ya bitching later when you found out that he was lame in the—"

" _Yuffie_."

"Okay, okay," she huffed. "Just do it for me, I promise you'll have a good time with this one!"

"Unlike the last two? Who you assured me were the most amazing, awesome, god-like beings of men?"

"Yah, well," she'd shrugged. "Can't always be right, can I?"

And so here I am. Not like I could actually tell Yuffie who I _really_ wish I was going out on a date with or anything. Oh gods, I'd never give her ammunition like _that._

Here and now and I'm having trouble keeping focused, rather, I'm having trouble convincing myself _why_ I should be focused on this man.

He eats like a cow. An honest to god cow. Scraping his plate, (seriously, _you need to cut your pasta?_ ) slopping around, food flying. _Imfuckingpressive_. I definitely want to have sex with you and proliferate our species.

"Yuffie tells me you're into that martial arts stuff," he says, mid chew. Gods. If there's one thing I hate, it's someone who uses the phrase "martial arts stuff."

"I am assuming you mean my karate?" I reply.

He ignores me and continues with his apparently unstoppable train of thought. "I gotta say, I used to be pretty into that stuff myself when I was younger. Took some classes, had some friends who went pro..." he says, apparently proud of his link to fame and fortune.

Oh yeah, one class in MMA and you're a true believer, baby. My phone rings and I answer it at the table, signaling a stop in, what I guess you could call, conversation.

I really hate when people do that kind of thing—answer the phone at the table, I mean. It's infinitely rude, but considering I'm having the equivalent of an aneurism as far as enjoyment goes, I ignore my rule this one time.

"Hi honey, yeah sure, what's up?"

He's staring at my breasts as I talk, not that it offends me, but I can definitely follow his current train of thought.

So not going anywhere near there, buddy.

"Oh, of course, of course. Ten minutes? You got it, sweetie. Okay, bye." The phone ringing is a diversion; I've set my alarm to go off thirty minutes into the date so that I don't have to sit through anything unbearable for too long.

Glad I'm a planner.

I make an approximation of an apologetic smile. "Sorry, emergency. Gotta go," I say while moving my chair back and making my way into a standing position.

I fumble through my purse, retrieve forty gil and drop it on the table. Heaven forbid this guy be able to say I owe him anything.

His face has gone somewhat red now and he looks angry. It is rude, what I'm doing, absolutely. But honestly, if he had any sense at all, he'd be relieved that this evening is coming to a close.

Evidently he had been anticipating a night cap, sloppy kisses, embarrassingly inadequate sex and an awkward goodbye in the morning. Sorry hon, another night and _definitely_ another girl.

"Well, fuck," he says.

Indeed. "Yeah, you know. It happens. Friend’s car broke down and she needs a lift, can't leave a friend in a lurch, so we'll be seeing ya."

He's sputtering as I make a hasty retreat. Sorry Carl...Cary...umm, whatever. And really, I'm not sorry, just relieved.

Thank the gods I took my own car here. Keys jingle in the ignition and I make my way towards the bar. My bar. Yeah, I know; I have a hard time keeping the past from repeating itself.

It'd seemed like a good idea at the time—I'd always been great at serving, and I was a hell of a manager back at Seventh Heaven.

And so the bar had been reborn. A grant from Reeve had made it all possible and once word got out that the plucky little fighter from Nibelheim was opening another bar, well, let's just says I've never had to spend much on advertising.

Lost it all, almost lost it all again, but I guess I have my fifteen minutes as compensation.

And the apartment I've been renting, after the necessity of a new home had arisen, is almost kitty-corner to the bar, so at least I don't have far to go after work.

I park around back and make my way through the dimly-lit alley. Dimly-lit because I hadn't had time to replace the burnt out lights in the back as of yet. Add it to the list...number 10006 or so.

So I fumble around in the dark, not for the first time this week, with my keys and let myself in. The alarm beeps at the back door and I punch the code in to deactivate it.

Vicky pokes her head around from the kitchen. "Shit, Tifa. This one lasted almost forty-five minutes! You're getting better at these."

I smile back at her. "Oh lord, Vic, this one was a real winner. Let me tell you."

She waves me off. "No time, hon. Major eye-candy made his way into the bar tonight, and I'm dead set on getting his number." And with that she makes her way back into the kitchen—into the mess of things.

I let out a huge sigh, the stress of the evening releasing and settling into something comfortable, something familiar, and make my way towards the front of the bar. Thank the gods for this place. I'd always been good at diving into work to avoid the uncertainty and frustrations of my life and with the breakup things had been no different.

Six years. _Six fucking years._ And all I got was this lousy t-shirt. Ok, so maybe not a t-shirt, but a headache and some bittersweet memories. I guess live and learn and move on.

My fingers trail along the wood-lined walls that lead up to the front of the bar, and I let the ambiance and mood sink into me, switching my feelings from frustrated and annoyed to happy and mostly content.

A chorus of voices take up my name as I enter my bar. I grin at them all, wave, hug. Oh yes, this is where I want to be. It may not be perfect, but it sure is mine.

Grabbing a black apron from the side of the counter and hitching it around myself, I make my way onto the sticky rubber mats that line the front counter to help with drink orders.

Oh, I am completely useless in the kitchen, but give me some Amaretto and lime juice and baby, I'll give you a good time.

The orders come fast and furious, as I'm used to, and soon I'm in my element. So in my element, in fact, that I neglect to notice that the "major eye-candy" that Vicky had been talking about was, in fact, a rather well-known friend.

I blink over towards the corner where he's sitting, currently being fawned on by a completely clueless Vicky, who is blundering through some conversation in the hopes of garnering a positive reception from the almost-always-stoic Vincent Valentine.

I do have to give the girl some credit though; _he is_ some incredible eye-candy. Especially since he's ditched the cape and leather in favour of smart button-downs and slacks.

Even his hair had been trimmed to a more manageable length and tonight it’s slicked back and neatly gathered at his neck. Tall, dark and handsome fit Vincent to a T. _Oh yeah_. That Vincent Valentine, sure knows how to work it.

I smirk, oh, no—more than smirk, it's a full-fledged grin and I let him suffer a bit before swaggering over with a drink in hand (dirty martini—extra olives, gods, Vincent, sometimes you act so old). I deposit the drink on his table and lean in, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"You should have called," I say simply.

He a small smile curls the corner of his lips. "And ruin the element of surprise? Never."

Grabbing Vicky around the waist I make with the introductions. "Vincent, this is my new, amazing, wonderful, lovely Vicky. Vicky, this is my friend Vincent Valentine, who has a terrible tendency to pop in and out of my life at the most opportune and inopportune moments."

His eyebrow raises at me as Vicky, thoroughly disheartened to find that her object of interest did, in fact, belong to her boss, (now didn't I _wish_ he belonged to me) makes some excuses and finds her way towards the bar.

"I don't recall ever leaving inopportunely," he says; his voice rumbling. I have to focus on his words and not the timbre to keep from being distracted by how they sound.

Smiling, I poke him in the chest, "Vincent, any time you leave is completely inopportune. How the hell are we all supposed to keep tabs on you if you keep disappearing all the time?" We've had this conversation before and we both know his work is what keeps him on such a random schedule.

I watch as Vincent gets up out of his chair and makes his way towards the empty one to his right; he pulls it out and motions for me to take a seat. Vincent Valentine, always the gentleman.

I run my hand softly down his arm as I take my seat and I smile broadly up at him. "Not your lap, this time?"

I have the distinct pleasure of seeing Vincent Valentine turn a delightful shade of red as he coughs slightly before sitting down.

Oh, I've not forgotten. Has he? The look on his face tells me he hasn't; what have you been thinking of Vincent Valentine?

_Have we been sharing dreams lately? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours..._

Of course, I’m referring to the _last time_ he'd come and visited me, exactly six months since Cloud and I had separated.

It'd been a particularly stressful day, which I'd capped off with a nice round of drinks for myself, crew and a few hangers–on and friends. Well, nice round was putting it _mildly_ , nice round or _six_ was more accurate and Vincent had chosen that night to knock on my door for a visit.

Vincent and I had kept in touch since it all ended, the end of the world that is—the second time around. Actually, strangely enough, he'd kept in touch with all of us in his own subtle way.

If we weren't friends at the beginning of it all, we certainly were now. It's strange to come to the realization that you appreciate someone and want them around, when for so long you've taken for granted that they'd always be there.

I'd peeked through the haphazard cover I'd thrown on the door and found him standing there. Throwing open the door, rather violently, I'd miraculously caught him somewhat off guard.

What happened next had been even more surprising, to both him and me: I'd launched myself into the air, sailing into his arms with a high-pitched squeal and landed a sloppy, messy, horrible kiss on his lovely, pale cheek.

He'd actually taken it in good humour, much to my surprise when I'd recollected at a later, less inebriated date.

"Hello, Tifa," he'd said.

"Hello, Vincent!" I'd replied, my lips catching on the syllables of his name. And he'd ushered me into the closed bar, back into the staff-party.

And he'd come with. Danced with. Drank with. Smiled with me. It'd had been glorious, truly one of the best evenings I'd had in a long time. And coming at the end of such a shitty night it had been more than welcome.

I didn't know he danced, and he dances wondrously. It felt like he was meant to be moving in that rhythm. I can't imagine how he moves any other way, he's so natural on the dance floor. I said as much to him.

A secret smile crosses his lips. "I was a Turk, Tifa. We had to be prepared for any situation. And aside from that, I had a particularly demanding mother who insisted I be able to handle myself on the dance floor."

He spun me in what I'm sure looked like a ridiculous pirouette, but somehow he made my movements graceful, even in my drunken state. Now, I'm no slouch on the dance floor, but I've had better nights where I definitely drank less and definitely danced better.

He pulled me close and I was aware of the points at which our bodies were touching: his hand, low on my back, our hips sliding together and parting, hands clasped firmly.

For reasons I wasn't entirely comfortable with acknowledging, my heartbeat raised and my stomach did little flips. Have I ever really seen you, Vincent Valentine?

He'd moved my inebriated body into a low dip, the room spun and it wasn't just from the alcohol. Slowly he slid me vertical again, his body a long caress against my own. I shivered.

For a moment, I think I caught him enjoying the dance as much as I was, his eyes closed with the pleasure of the moment.

"Somehow I don't think your mother taught you to dance quite like this," I said, a little unsteady on my feet.

The dance brings us close again. "Some things you have to perfect on your own," he murmured, lips softly caressing the edges of my ear.

Somehow one dance had blurred into seven...ten...and I lost count.

I'd ended the night in his lap. Don't ask me how I got there, I honestly don't remember. What I do remember, though, is how perfectly my head fit in the contours of his shoulder, how wonderfully he smelled, how his soft touch circled the skin of my leg.

"Vincent...?" I'd murmured into his neck, my hand softly clinging to the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Tifa?" his reply had rumbled back.

"I like you Vincent." I always had, I'd realized. Though at that moment, it felt like it was turning into something more...

He'd shifted then, arms tightening slightly, he'd said softly, "I like you too, Tifa." And then I'd passed out.

I'd found out later that Kara, my hostess, had directed Vincent towards my apartment and he'd deposited me in my home and bed before taking over my couch for the night.

He'd left the next morning, only stopping in for a quick visit at the bar before his next assignment.

And I'd smiled and thanked him for thinking of me. Regretting, more than I was willing to admit to myself both then and now, seeing him go.

Back in the now, my eyes follow him as he shifts in his seat, getting comfortable before becoming acquainted with the drink that I'd sat in front of him.

I smile as he winces on his sip, watching him drink: both loving and hating the bitter concoction.

"You know, I'd make you something sweeter, if you'd drink it," I say, the side of my lip rising in a smirk.

He slips an olive from the skewer into his mouth and my gaze hitches on his lips, mouth working at the olive, the slide as it makes its way down. That Vincent Valentine...sure _does_ know how to work it...

"I like the olives," he says while swirling another into his mouth.

Laughing I say, "I can make you something that tastes better with olives, you know?"

His eye flicker to mine. "Sometimes the reward is sweeter when you have to go through some bitterness to get to it."

I hold his gaze. "Vincent, this is olives, gin and vermouth we're talking about. I'm pretty sure it's all bitter."

He holds out the little skewer to me, the last olive propped precariously on the tip.

Not one to be outdone, I wink at him before moving, my hand softly closing around the outsides of his own, stilling it. My mouth moves in, close enough to swirl my tongue around the olive, as I slide the olive into my mouth, my eyes half-shuttered in unapologetic enjoyment.

I _love_ olives.

He watches me closely, eyes sharply focused on the movement of my lips as I move back into my chair.

Vincent clears his throat roughly. "Have you heard from Cloud?" he asks, almost as if to distract himself.

I lean back and my legs prop themselves up on the tip of the chair, I rest my head on my knees. "Yeah. To be honest, I think we should have gone our separate ways ages ago...We're both happier for it."

He eyes me intensely, almost as if he was trying to discern whether or not there was any truth in my words.

I tip my toes forward, nudging his leg with my foot. "Honestly, Vincent. Besides, this way I can try and figure myself out. I kind of feel like I missed out on the opportunity to, well, be me."

He tips his head to the side a bit before he says, "So you're celebrating your new found freedom by going out on blind dates?"

I almost hit him, wanted to hit him hard. "Oh who the hell told you that!? I'm going to bloody murder Yuffie! It was her stupid idea anyways!"

He laughs softly at me. "I take it the date went well?"

Groaning loudly I rearrange myself, leaning into him conspiratorially, "You should have seen this guy, Vincent. Total Rico Suave, hot shit, women should just melt at my feet kind of man. Neanderthal doesn't even cover it, I'm pretty sure this guy didn't make it past the soupy pond."

He laughs softly before leaning towards me, fingertips catching the edges of my hair before he brushes it back behind an ear. When had we gotten so close together? My breath caught, _Why aren't we always this close together?_

"You need to learn to say no to people, Tifa," he whispers softly.

_I wouldn't say "no" to you, Vincent,_ my mind helpfully supplies out of nowhere.

My eyes flicker to his wonderfully formed mouth...sinfully full lower lip...

"TIFA!" Comes a screech from the bar and the moment is broken. I smile as I shift upwards, not at all unaware of how his gaze lingers over my body, finally settling on my eyes.

"I'll be right back, Vincent. You'll stay, won't you?"

He'd nods, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into his chair. "I'll stay."

I flash him what I hope is a brilliant smile and make my way towards the chaos.

I can feel him watching me through the thick of things. All other eyes in the room melted away and I feel like the intensity of that stare was pulling me from my normalcy into something unknown, something frightening, and something exciting. Something inexplicably him.

I wonder if he knows how alluring that intensity is, how hard it is to resist. I don't think he's even aware of the power he has over people—over me. Somehow I think if he were aware of it, that the knowledge would just make him uncomfortable and cause him to withdraw further into himself.

I smile at him between drink orders, and he waves slightly back. He waits patiently while the minutes turn into an hour and finally it's approaching closing time and things have died down to a level where the staff are able to handle things on their own.

I return to my chair, two drinks in hand, (amaretto sour for me, and a repeat performance of the dirty martini for him) hair pulled up in a messy bun by this point, apron damp and sticky with residue from the drinks I'd churned out.

He takes in my disheveled state with the grace and courteousness I've grown accustomed to; you'd think I was dressed like a queen the way his eyes watch me.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" he says while flicking a half-caught paper umbrella from my apron.

I stretch and yawn largely. "Oh, I don't know. Sleep? Work on my bookkeeping, maybe finish an order for the weekend, why?"

"I was wondering if you'd come to dinner with me," he asks quietly.

I think my face shows the shock clearly because he coughs and turns his head to the side a little.

He's _never_ invited me out before, ever. Always he'd show up, we'd visit for a short while (maybe gotten a little drunk and dancy, who's to say?), but it never went any further than that. No dinners, no drinks on the town, just two friends catching up for a few hours before he inevitably left for work again.

"Dinner? What kind of dinner?"

"There's another kind of dinner I'm unaware of?" He remarks lightly, though I could see the...what is it? Insecurity in your eyes, or is it hope?

I punch him lightly in the arm. "I think you know what I mean, Vincent."

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, and I know he's teasing me back. "No more blind dates, at least?"

I laugh at that comment. "No, I suppose not. So, is that what it is, then? A date?"

He shrugs lightly. "Maybe."

"Maybe," I repeat. "Well then. Maybe I'll show up for dinner and maybe I won't, where and what time?"

"Seven thirty at the Blue Chocobo, reservations under 'Valentine'."

"Rather sure of yourself, aren't you?"

He raises his hand as if to say, _Well, wouldn't you be, if you were me_? And I laugh, my body coming close to his, our knees making soft contact.

"It's salsa night," he says, as if I needed to know.

"So, a short skirt and low cut top and I'll fit right in?"

This time he does smirk and it's positively delicious on that handsome face. _That Vincent..._

"Wear whatever you can dance the longest in," he says, flicking his wrist to the side and checking the time.

"Have to go?" I ask.

He gives a short nod."I've been up since four thirty this morning, and though Yuffie thinks I don't need any sleep, that isn't really the case," he says, amusement evident in his eyes.

I nod back at him. "Yes, yes, of course. You came in from Kalm, I guess? Where are you staying?"

"That little hotel by the new city centre, what's its name...Oh. Of course, the Meteor Inn."

I snort inelegantly at the name. "People will use anything to make a gil, call me tomorrow when you wake up so we can arrange things?"

Vincent nods before slowly raising his gaze to mine. His eyes take on a fiery intensity and somehow I'm completely captivated; the bar, my crew, everything disappears and it's just him.

Vincent shifts his body forward, leaning into mine. His hand moves upward and slowly his fingers lace themselves in my messy hair, gently pulling the tie out of my bun, the waves of my hair softly cascading around us both.

His hand lingers there at the back of my neck, slightly swirling themselves within my hair and I almost purr from the contact. He moves closer, his legs softly brushing the length of mine.

My eyes are lidded and I know he's aware of what he's doing, what he's making me feel. _Gods,_ it's been so long since I've had this kind of attention, though I don't think I ever wanted it from anyone else quite like the way I want it from him.

Is this how it's going to be now, Vincent? Laid myself a little too bare, apparently. Though I can't say I really regret the decision to tell you how I feel.

Close, so close, lips hovering near my earlobe. I can feel the soft whisper of his breath against my neck. My is pulse racing, every nerve ending firing rapidly with the anticipation of further contact.

He whispers something, so soft I can barely hear it.

"What...?" I whisper back, my voice almost completely gone.

"You have..." he started, his hand slowly tracing its way down and along the sensitive points of my neck. "You have..."

"Yes...?" I almost faint from lack of breath.

"...A cherry stem in your hair."

I snap up straight and look at him. He shifts backwards with a slightly smug smirk. I'm pretty sure my eyes are shooting death-rays at him. "Just what the hell do you think that was about, Vincent Valentine?"

He shrugs elegantly, humour evident in his gaze before reaching in to pluck the offending stem from the top of my head.

"See you tomorrow, Tifa," he states simply, while making his way up and out.

I blow him a raspberry; it's not very adult, but all's fair and all that.

He smiles slightly over his shoulder and with a wave and a rush of air he was out the door.

I curl up on my chair and not for the first time and laugh softly.

_See you tomorrow too, Vincent._

* * *

 

**_a/n~ I know I know. LOL you don't have to say anything because I already know. But I'd appreciate it if you would anyways ;) I've kind of always hated the way they made Tifa after the game, kind of like forced her to be the mother for the whole crew and I never thought that was fair. She'd been through so much; wouldn't it have been nice if she had someone to rely on, instead of simply being the only one everyone else could look to? Hope you enjoy._ **

**_2015 Edits! Well, I’m not as embarrassed with this as I thought I would be. Go me! Cleaned up some dialogue tags and added/subtracted a few words for clairty._ **

**_Love that Vincent Valentine. And I forgot how much fun I have with Tifa. Ya’ll excited for remake? I’m a little love-hate with it. Don’t want to ruin my memories of it, but still stoked to run through Midgar in HD. And...Vincent Valentine in HD. OH YES PLZ THX!_ **

**_Thank you, as ever, for reading! Love and hugs!_ **

**_~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole_** ~ ** _Do not use in whole or in part without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~_**

 


	2. The Cure

**_Thank you all for your reviews! Hopefully you enjoy this too!_ **

* * *

 

**_I know the world's been mean to you_ **

**_I've got a cure, hold tight._ **

**_I know the world's not fair to you_ **

**_I've got a cure for its crimes..._ **

**_I've got a cure_ **

**_I've got the cure for you..._ **

**Tegan and Sara _The Cure_**

* * *

 

Okay. So I didn't sleep well last night. Evidence of that? My partially smashed alarm-clock squeaking, half-assed from its current position on my floor. It's kind of hard have a good sleep when your dreams consist of nothing but merlot colored eyes and deep, rumbling, sexy laughter.

Damn that Vincent.

I shrug my covers half-off, rubbing the sleepies from my eyes with the disturbing thought: if only he could see me in the morning (if noon really counts as morning, I work late, what can I say?). Then I recall: _he has._ I blanch.

_Damn that Vincent._

I surely owe him a hangover and some cheek drooling embarrassment in the morning—on his part. Absolutely. I even add it to my mental list of things to accomplish as I slowly make my way out of my extremely warm and much too sporadically inhabited bed.

I shift my body around and peek my toes out from under the covers. _Shit,_ I mentally curse. _So cold._ Luckily, Mondays are my day off (bar's closed on what is predictably the deadest day of the week), so I can take this whole "waking up" business slowly.

Padding my way gingerly onto the floor, I start my morning stretches...yeah. I do those, I swear. You know those annoying as hell people who tell you how good it is for your body to wake up slowly with stretches? Oh boy, I'm one of them. Though I'm not as pushy about it some people have a tendency to be. _Yuffie_ , in particular comes to mind.

Every morning on that gods be damned airship ( _seriously_ , who has that kind of energy after fighting monsters all night anyways?), Yuffie up, bright and early, poking and prodding us into a level of awareness we would have all appreciated _not_ experiencing. And then came the stretching. Oh _gods_ , the stretching.

We fought it at first, we really did. But she's just so damn persistent, though she had a hell of a time convincing the boys.

I thought Cid was going to laugh his way off the side of the airship the first time she suggested—hmm, no that's not right, the first time she _demanded_ we do yoga with her. Cloud will do anything if the person doing the convincing is pushy enough; Red, well, since when do cat-like creatures need any help in the flexibility department? Then Barret, well I'm not sure he even really knew what yoga was until she demonstrated. He was pretty damn convinced that his body: "Ain't made ta mov' that way."

And Vincent...well, he's pretty professional when it comes to glaring someone in line. Though, with Yuffie, there's only so much glaring a person can do before she flat-out ignores them and continues with her original intent.

So, through tears, outrage and flat out hissy-fits, the bitch finally conned us into doing what she wanted by stealing our materia. You'd think we'd have learned to keep our things secure the first time, but apparently not. And considering she had our balls in a vice, literally, we relented.

Truth be told, though, she's just _so_ much easier to deal when she gets her way.

"You bitches will be thanking me when your intense flexibility saves your lazy asses from a Malboro!" She'd yell over the din of the airship's motors.

The things you'll do to get your stuff back.

I smile at the memory with my head currently inverted, hair falling in waves to scrape my floor.

They aren't all bad, or bloody, not by a long shot, but some memories are so tangled and mangled amid other shit that it's hard to separate them from each other. But not this one.

And I'll tell you what—Vincent Valentine, five in the morning, cape akimbo, dog pose—well, it's just a sight that everyone should get to see in their lifetime.

 _Who knew_ yoga could be so hilarious and sexy all at the same time?

I develop a new appreciation for my shins— _pyramid pose, oh yes_ —while the memories flutter through my- can't quite concentrate on the stretches- mind.

You'd think he'd have at least taken the cape off. "Might make the poses easier to get into," I'd suggested once, after a particularly boisterous lesson from our resident Yogi.

Leaning out over the railing beside the window, he'd just shrugged before turning to face me. "A behemoth isn't going to make any concessions on my part, why should I prepare my body free of the restrictions that would otherwise hinder me?"

I'd blinked at him, cocked my head to the side before half-smiling and answering, "It's just yoga, Vincent. I was kind of under the impression most of us just do this to keep Yuffie quiet and keep our materia safe anyways..."

The ninja in question glared menacingly in my direction, but I was pretty sure she'd only heard her name mentioned.

His hand came into the air, as if almost to say: Your point being?

I leaned in then, close enough so I knew he could feel the heat of my body, so the faint smell of my soap registered on his mind, close enough to make him uncomfortable.

I don't know why I felt the compulsion at that moment to push and pick at his personality the way I did, but I guess I just couldn't stand that disconnection he had with humanity, with us.

Superwoman Tifa, swooping in at the speed of light and forcing others to acknowledge what they've banished to the tiny recesses of their minds. I always knew he liked us more than he led on, he just needed a push, or a stretch, in the right direction.

I rested my hand on his forearm."... Personally though," I continued, conspiratorially, almost _reassuringly_.

I looked up at him through my lashes to ensure he was listening, and wet my lips before continuing. I enjoyed seeing his gaze flicker back and forth between my eyes and lips, seeing how my mouth distracted him.

 _Not as stoic as you'd like to make us believe, are you Vincent?_ I'd thought.

He'd been visibly rattled at that point. It's hard to tell with Vincent, but I'm good at reading his slightly telegraphing movements: slight twitch of the fingers, quick flick of the tongue, nostrils flared almost imperceptibly.

 _Oh boy,_ did I ever have his attention.

I'd exhaled softly before continuing, so close that the brief expulsion of air had nowhere to go except along his slightly bowed neck. "I kind of just like having the opportunity to check out your ass when it's pointed in the air."

I'm pretty sure I felt his heart drop through the floor of the Highwind during that brief moment, before I'd softly brushed past him to make my way to the kitchen for some much overdue breakfast, leaving him shocked and completely at a loss as to what to do next.

Hmph. Tifa Lockheart: warrior, bar matron, and shit-disturber extraordinaire.

Oh, I've been picking at the little cocoon that Vincent likes to wrap himself in for _years;_ though if recent actions are any indication, it looks like I'm finally starting to make some progress with him.

I finish up with my stretches and slowly sift my way though the pile of last night's work clothes, toeing them from the floor to the basket in the corner of my little room. Tifa Lockheart of the nimble toes!

_Oh yeah, you really don't know what you're getting yourself into, do you Vincent?_

I continue with my morning rituals, shower, blow-dry the hair (oh, believe me, it needs it), dress, and wait for _the call._

Don't get me wrong, I'm not the kind of girl that just _waits_ around for some boy to call at his whim, but I said I'd wait for him, and well, I think he's worth it.

By the time one thirty rolls around, I'm questioning my judgement. Maybe he's _not_ worth it and maybe he's going to get a huge ear-full when he _finally_ does call. Then I remember my mistake: not giving him a time-frame.

God-damn boys. Seriously. Probably thinks I'll get mad if he calls too early.

So I pick up around the apartment, which isn't hard to do considering it's pretty much a kitchen, a bedroom (with an ensuite—yes!), a mini-bathroom, and a closet. But it's mine, and it's bright with light—nice, big, open windows that are a bitch to clean, but let me feel like I'm living as a part of the sky, so I don't hate them too much.

Thirty minutes later and I'm breaking down, leaning against my kitchen counter, holding the phone in one hand and scanning through the phonebook with the other for the number to the Meteor Inn and then, _it happens._

The god damn thing rings and I nearly drop it from my hand in surprise. As if this is a new occurrence for me and phones don't regularly _ring._

 _Seriously, Tifa._ I mentally chide myself. _You're acting like some sort of desperate teenager._

Taking a moment to compose myself, I answer the phone in my best "I surely haven't been waiting for two hours for your call and have infinitely more important and interesting things to do than wait around for you" voice.

"Hello, Tifa here," I say.

"Hello, Tifa," his voice rumbles back. And if I was annoyed, if I was irritated, it's evaporated, it's sizzled away, with the way the way he manages to say _my name_.

 _Whoo, boy. That Vincent is in the wrong line of work,_ I think. _He definitely should be charging for people to listen to him speak. Probably ten gil a minute, yeah. Sounds about right._

I wonder faintly if he's magical, the way his voice is so haunting and mesmerizing.

My brain is fuzz for a good, long, while and finally he clears his throat to regain my attention.

"Oh, yes?" I fumble for words.

I hear him chuckle. "When will you be ready?"

My mind clicks on in a flash. "It's just after two, Vincent." I lean my elbow on the counter. "You said _dinner_ and I was raised to believe that dinner implies after five o'clock."

I can hear the amusement in his voice. "I was just curious; I will pick you up around seven?" he asks.

"That should be sufficient." It _can_ take almost twenty minutes to cross the city, what with all the renovations and improvised traffic intersections. Slowly but surely, it is improving. These things just take time.

"Dinner should be served before eight; dancing starts at eight-thirty," he tells me.

I smirk. I know we _both_ will enjoy the dancing. Lucky for him he's not the only one who's had lessons.

"Sounds great, see you then, Vincent."

"See you soon, Tifa. Be ready to dance."

"Ditto that."

And we hang up.

My mind recalls the distinct memory of my dancing instructor during a time, not so long ago, when I decided it might be agreeable to be able to dance _without_ making a drunken, stomping fool out of one's self.

Evidently I'd shamed myself into the belief that I'd be somehow _more_ graceful if I took lessons.

I'm not sure if it worked, but at least I can keep a beat with a bad partner. Haven't had the chance to try my new skills out with someone like Vincent...yet.

"Stop staring at your feet, Tifa." That's what my sixty-five year old dancing instructor, Robert, had to beat into my head, almost literally.

Karate I get. Katas are kind of a dance anyways, more a dance of death, but a dance no less. But I just couldn't stop from watching my feet. I'm a perfectionist, you see; I like to make sure I'm doing everything right and when you're new at something, like dancing, it's hard not to be self-deprecating.

Needless to say, I stepped on my instructor's feet— _a lot._

But I got better, not perfect, but not bad either. Salsa is sinewy enough that mistakes could just be an embellishment. See me step just a little off-beat? That's just me feeling the music…really, honest!

After a particularly gruelling session (twice a week, two hour classes—what was I thinking?), my instructor saw fit to try and motivate me: "Tango is the dance of passion, Waltz of grace; Tifa, do you know what Salsa is?"

At the point of asking, I'd been in a half-dead, foot-sore, lump on the ground, whining and moaning about my ineptitude for dance. I shook my head in the negative.

Robert simply smiled at me, held out his hand and lifted me to my feet.

"Salsa," he said. "Is the dance of sex." I smirked at him, uncomprehending. And not a little shocked, it's kind of odd seeing someone as professional and studied at dance, as my instructor was, talk about _sex._

He pulled me into position: my left arm resting on his right, right arm shoulder height in his left.

"And?" I asked.

"What does dancing have in common with sex?" He asked, motioning for his assistant to replay the music.

Drum beats, loud horns. Ahh, the introduction to the song. I'd have to start dancing _again._ I considered, miserably.

"Both of them require that you move around ridiculously and get hot and sweaty?" I ventured a guess.

"Tifa," he chided. "One, two, three, _pause,_ five, six, seven, _pause_." He said, gliding me back and forth. "No, there's always room for errors and as long as you fuck up with flair, no one will ever know the difference."

I'd laughed. It was the first and last time I ever heard him swear, but it made its impact. I was still not entirely convinced that either situation was forgiving where mistakes were concerned, but went with it, too tired to do anything other than blunder along through another pathetic practice round.

But I did get better and I did learn to "fuck up with flair." It's actually rather useful, if I don't say so myself.

So, kudos to you, Robert.

 _Seven,_ I think to myself. Gives me just under five hours to get ready. Ha. As if I'm _that_ girl.

I get some work finished for tomorrow, payroll (seriously, I know there's services that will do this _for me._ Do my cheques, remittances, paperwork, but why do they have to be so _expensive?),_ half my stock —from memory, thank you very much—and then bumble around for a bit.

Mondays are good for that: miscellaneous tasks, catching up on my latest read and otherwise just not doing a whole hell of a lot.

Time starts winding down, getting close to _the hour._ And I'm stuck; do I wear the red, saucy dress? Or the little black dress.

My eyes dart back and forth from where I have the two dresses laid out on my bed.

 _The red is longer,_ I think to myself. _But the black isn't as flirty. Who am I tonight? Tifa the flirt? Or Tifa the matron?_

I go with the red. I'm thinking it'll have the impact I'm looking for, at least, I hope it will.

I leave my hair long and it almost skims the back hem of my dress. I love the way my hair feels when it flips itself around the dance floor, and it's easier to manage when I'm dancing—I can just pull it up if it gets in my way. Complicated hairstyles just get messy and look terrible by the end of the evening.

I have my jacket and shoes on at 6:45 on the dot, don't want to ruin the surprise of my outfit.

Seven, my apartment buzzer rings. I answer and his voice calls back, so I let him in.

A minute later, he's at my door and I answer to see him casually standing there, waiting for me.

He cuts quite the dashing figure in the beautifully tailored, black suit he's wearing. Black tie and shirt, of course.

I don't think that many men can pull off that distinctly dark look, but if there's anyone in the world who should have a wardrobe made entirely out of dark suits, I think it's Vincent.

I walk close and tip-toe up, giving him a chaste kiss on the side of the mouth—I'm too short to make it all the way to his cheek, I swear. No? Well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

He smiles down at me and softly brushes a lock of my hair back from my face, seemingly to distract himself.

I can't help but notice how he almost seems to fidget while he's standing there, looking like he's wishing for something to preoccupy his mind.

"Miss the cigarettes?" I wonder out loud.

"Sometimes," he says slowly, before adding, "they seem to have the ability to take the edge off of stressful situations."

He smoked back on the airship, something residual from his time as a Turk, I'd guessed—stress management. He never really did it around the others, almost as if he didn't want just anyone witnessing the act, almost as if it were too personal, too raw, attached to too many old, lingering memories.

He smoked around me though, those nights out on the deck where I was hiding from the truth on the inside and he was hiding from himself.

Quiet times, mostly, except for the soft pull of his breath on the cigarettes, faint tapping noise as he tipped it off the edge of the railing.

I'd wrinkled my nose distastefully at the smell, though I was used to it enough after working in a bar for so long.

"Vincent," I'd chided one night when the companionable silence had stretched on longer than I was willing to let it. "I never thought of you as a smoker."

He'd turned towards where I was sitting and shrugged slightly, mid puff. "You've known about my habit for a while, Tifa," he'd replied simply.

I'd stood from my customary position in the corner of the deck (tucked away from the wind, but still managing a magnificent view) and caught his gaze **.**

"Just because I haven't commented till now, doesn't mean I wasn't considering it."

"Afraid you were going to hurt my feelings?" he joked softly.

I'd puffed air out from between my lips, a faint sound of amusement. "More afraid you're going to hurt my lungs; aren't you worried about getting cancer?" I'd asked.

He'd turned away from me then, eyes cast out over the dark horizon. "Impossible." he said, so quietly I had to strain to hear him.

"Chaos?" I'd asked softly, though I knew the answer.

"Hn," he'd agreed.

Supernatural attributes—without the affects of human afflictions. I've always wondered what the true extent of his abilities are, maybe one day I'll work up the guts to ask him. Probably not any time soon though, I'm too afraid of what the answers might be.

So I'd let the matter rest and neither one of us mentioned it again, though I couldn't help but notice how after our discussion he'd stood down-wind from me, careful to ensure the smoke didn't come anywhere near me.

The frequency had lessened too, till one day, it stopped completely.

And though neither of us mentioned it again, and he never said he'd done it for me, I like to think of it as my own, little triumph over the cigarettes and nightmares of a life gone by. A little break from the past, courtesy of yours truly.

It's funny though, the scent of leather and tobacco still remind me of Vincent, though he's long since kicked the habit. I guess first impressions are the hardest to break.

Looking at him with it absent is almost weird. _Almost._

I raise my eyebrow at him. "Since when am I considered to be a stressful situation?"

He shrugs lightly. "It's been a long time since I've been on a date, Tifa."

I laugh while locking my door and making my way out of the hallway and into the main foyer.

"I don't believe that for a second, Vincent Valentine."

He raises his eyebrows at me, questioningly. He's so great at eliciting responses from silence. I guess, somehow, I feel compelled to fill in the blanks for him. One day I'm going to force Vincent to speak for himself, I swear.

"Handsome, dashing, de-gauntleted; don't tell me that with new wardrobe you haven't had some attention from the ladies." I make my way towards his car: two-seater, bucket seats, black, sleek, sexy in a way only fast cars can be.

_The more things change..._

I lean back on the car and face him, daring. "Been pining away for me all this time, Vincent?"

Never one to back down from a blatant challenge, Vincent brushes close to my body, hands resting on either side of me on the car— _very_ close. I have to strain my neck up to look at him.

"I don't have much time for dates," he says softly.

"Who said I was talking about _dates,_ Vincent." I try to waggle my eyebrows suggestively at him with false-bravado, though my voice cracks slightly.

My heartbeat has sped up to rabbit-like speeds, and I'm pretty sure the hyper-sensitive Vincent is aware of every nuance of my reaction to his vicinity.

He smiles down at me, eyes trailing a path from lips to the curve of my neck and back to my eyes.

I'll be damned if I don't see his tongue quickly flick out over his bottom lip.

My eyes widen and I nibble on my lip—force of habit. _Shit. This was supposed to be **my** game._

His hand reaches up and gently extracts my lip from being nibbled, brushing softly along my cheek before dragging a slow path down my left shoulder.

Vincent leans in and my head dips back in anticipation, eyes heavy, waiting.

I can feel his body shift closer, pressing me firmly against the car.

His body is hard and warm. I notice the faint smell of his cologne. _Yum..._

 _Okay, Vincent._ My mind supplies. _This is getting downright indecent! Whooo_ — _what a show for the neighbours!_

I feel his breath softly flutter along my cheek, trailing heat down my neck. He's closer than I think is humanly possible and the fibres of his suit are softly scraping against my bare legs. My hands are frozen against the cool metal of his car. And I wait.

His lips softly graze the open space of neck, a whisper against my skin.

I almost let out a soft moan of frustration...and then... _finally_ —CLICK.

 _Huh?_ _Click?!_ I blink widely.

He opens the door for me and backs up with a barely suppressed smirk.

_Son of a **bitch.**_

I mentally pick myself back up and manage to squeak out a "Thanks" as I set myself carefully inside the car, no paparazzi panty-shots moments for me, thank you very much.

Vincent makes his way over to the left side of the car and lets himself in. I'll be damned if I'm unlocking the door after _that_ little incident.

The right side of his mouth twitches in what I think is a smirk and he says nothing. Just starts the car and makes his way onto the road.

 _Oh, Vincent._ _I bet you were a real heart-breaker, once upon a time._ I think to myself.

_Just you wait till you see what I have planned for **you.** Bet you think you're so smug, playing the "Tifa likes to pick at my personal bubble so I'll turn the tables on her game." **Just you wait.**_

My mind practically cackles with anticipation.

The car ride is less heated and the city under reconstruction passes by in a blur of lights and movement. It's been a while since I've ridden co-pilot and I'm not ashamed to admit I enjoy the opportunity to just sit and watch the world pass me by.

We make idle small chat, _safe_ topics of discussion. No deep-seated, heavy conversations on a twenty minute car ride, thanks.

Before I even realise it, we're at the restaurant.

Fancy-dancy place that it is, it's a good thing I don't have any qualms about _Vincent_ taking me out. I know I don't owe him anything. Hell, I've saved his ass more than a few times (not that I'm counting or anything) so I'm pretty sure _he_ owes me at least a dinner out.

Some cute, young, thing opens my door and offers me his hand.

"Welcome to the Blue Chocobo, miss." I smirk, inordinately pleased that I am still young-looking enough to warrant a "miss."

Yeah. It's petty, but I think I got the short stick when it comes to having the opportunity to enjoy one's youth, so forgive me if I gloat in moments like this.

Vincent comes around, another valet having taken his keys, slowly drives the car towards the lot.

He offers me his arm and I take it. Little shivers of pleasure tickle their way down my spine at the contact, not for the first time this night.

I'm always surprised at how his touch affects me. Almost as if I'm waiting for the opportunity to have him close. It's really funny, but I think I've always enjoyed having Vincent near me, preferably not _teasing_ me. Well, not _yet_ anyways _._

I wonder how long this has been going on, honestly. I wonder what my life would have been like had I just admitted it to myself sooner.

I smile up at him as we make our way into the restaurant and he almost smiles back.

"I just need to check my coat," I say to him as I reluctantly disentangle my arm from his.

He nods slightly and makes his way over towards the hostess to check our reservation, I assume.

I check the jacket at the door and make my way over to where Vincent is talking to the hostess.

Poor Vincent, he never even saw it coming and I _almost_ feel bad for him.

Well, I guess that's not entirely right, he _saw_ it coming, he just couldn't believe it when he did. His eyes lock on me and then he looks, _really_ takes a good, long look.

And I can't help but smirk at his obvious reaction—so far and few between for him. I flip my long hair back over my shoulder enticingly...I hope. I smile over at Vincent-in-shock.

 _I guess he likes my dress,_ I think smugly to myself.

So, it's not really so much as dress as it is a fashion statement and, judging from the look in Vincent's eyes right now, my fashion statement is blaring sex appeal.

I swear I didn't spend an hour, pulling my hair out, picking it out, trying on and discarding at least a dozen outfits before finally settling on va-va-voom.

Red has always been a great color on me, if I don't say so myself, and it's form fitting, but flares sweetly at the tips.

It's not extremely short, not that Vincent hasn't seen me in _extremely_ short or anything, but it's not long either, softly skimming the tops of my thighs.

But I'm pretty sure it's the cut of the bodice that has his mind moving a mile a minute.

The dress is square along the top, a seductive little "v" cutting out the centre of the line, leaving enough to the imagination to be considered mostly modest, but revealing enough to be sexy for Salsa, and little capped sleeves leave my shoulders nearly bare.

Top it off with a super-cute pair of black pumps (closed toe- never dance in open-toed shoes, believe me, you'll thank me later) and I have one Vincent Valentine eating out of my palm.

I sashay appealingly over to where Vincent is standing; at least, I'm pretty sure it's appealing considering the glances I'm getting from the other males in the vicinity.

His eyes move from the tips of my pumps to the top of my head, and then back to the middle again for good measure, then to the top, then my eyes.

I don't think I've seen Vincent so blatantly stare in...well, ever. I was beginning to think he was immune to feminine charms, at least of the globular kind.

Leaning in towards him, I wink suggestively and he raises an eyebrow back. I laugh and with a soft nudge to his chest say, "I'm not the only one in the room who's lucky, eh?"

He eyes me appreciatively again, gaze heating a path from my curling toes to the top of my hair, before catching my eyes. "I know I'm a lucky man to have your time, Tifa."

He catches me off guard with the statement and I screw up my face at him, at a loss for words. Yeah, generally I'm not quite so taken aback when a man ogles me and then placates said pervy gestures with sincere complements.

Damn that Vincent!

His hand softly runs along the side of my cheek and a slight smirk creeps into the right corner of his lips.

I lean my face into that caress, enjoying the moment, before the hostess interrupts us and he reluctantly runs his fingers down to catch my hand and lead me to our table.

Good thing he's leading, because food is definitely the last thing on my mind.

* * *

 

**A/N- Ahhhhh! Second chapter, amazing! First time for a second lol, so hopefully you enjoyed it. Can't wait for the dance...I love dancing, well, watching _other_ people dance anyways lol. So romantical! In case you haven't noticed (lol) I like flashbacks, I like build up for the relationship, so I think this whole sordid affair has been developing for years- whether Vincent liked it or not. Hope you don't mind**

**Again, just me reading and rereading and reading this sucker out loud for editing. So sorry if I missed anything**

**Thank you for reading (and hopefully reviewing). It really means so much to me!**

**2015 Edits. No story changed, just a little editing for clarity and consistency. Love and cookies!**

**_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole_** ~ ** _Do not use in whole or in part without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_**

 

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	3. Dance with somebody

**_I'm falling in love with your favourite song_ **

**_I'm gonna sing it all night long_ **

**_I'm gonna dance with somebody_ **

**_Dance with somebody_ **

**_Dance, dance, dance_ **

**_Mando Diao, Dance With Somebody_ **

* * *

 

The hostess leads us to our table, which is kind of out of the way and private, and Vincent makes his way around to pull my chair out for me. I manage to tuck myself in without jamming my legs into anything or falling off the chair: point scored for team Tifa's decorum!

"Your waitress, Kristina, will be with you shortly to take your drink order," the hostess says to Vincent, a little breathlessly, while placing our menus down before she reluctantly leaves our sides.

After we're seated, the hostess and waitress almost seem to tag-team our table, the waitress is over beside us _that_ quickly.

I smile across at Vincent as the young woman practically runs to us. I don't really blame her, I know firsthand the way Vincent can make a woman feel. I just hope I'm not so blatant about it, but I secretly fear that I'm just as obvious as these girls.

The petite blonde girl takes time to smooth down the front of her black dress shirt and pants combination before speaking directly to Vincent. "Hi..." she starts, taking a moment to compose herself as her eyes practically ravage the man in front of her. "I'm Kristina...with a K..."she tells Vincent, as if it's important he knows.

Kristina, _with a K_ , goes on to slowly list the meal specials of the evening—they sound good, I have to admit to myself, even if our waitress can't keep her eyes off my date.

She stops for a moment, as if waiting for a reaction from Vincent. I've decided that I've had just about enough of being ignored and disrespected, so I clear my throat to get her attention.

"The drink specials?" I say, at this point needing one.

She slowly turns her head away from Vincent, as if only acknowledging me by force. "Oh." She seems startled by my presence. "Right...Sex on the beach for 5 gil and Wutai Storm for 6 gil."

"I'll have a Wutai Storm," I say. "Actually, make it a double."

"I'll have the same," Vincent quickly adds.

She seems kind of upset at having no other reason to stand there and talk to us, so she almost huffily declares that she'll be leaving to get our drinks and will be back soon to take our dinner order and _anything_ else we may need.

I have to hand it to Vincent, he's getting better with these reactions. When he first started frequenting my bar he practically hid himself in the corner, only daring to peek himself out when I'd find the time to come by and chat.

Now he seems so confident, so sure of himself. I am so proud of him for (even if a little slowly) managing to crack the hard shell that had found its way around his heart.

Now he seems only mildly embarrassed, where before I think he would have been mortified.

"You know," I say, smiling broadly from across the little table. "You'd have an easier time if you didn't wear suits."

"Oh?" he asks while retrieving the menu from the table. "How is that, Tifa?"

He's goading me into telling him what I really think about his outfit. I'm almost surprised; when did my stoic Vincent turn into such a tease?

I raise one eyebrow back at him, giving a slightly mocking representation of his face. "The better the suit, the bigger the tip—if you're _nice_ enough," I wink at him. "Obviously you've never worked in the service industry, Vincent."

His mouth quirked at my remark. "So, it's just the suit, is it? What about the man inside the suit?"

"In your case, Vincent, the suit’s merely a bonus. Generally the nicer the suit the fatter and uglier the man is."

I watch as Vincent sits back with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"What?" I can't help asking.

"That explains a lot," he says with a slight smirk.

"What explains a lot?" I wonder, eyebrows raised at his expression.

"The suits. When I was with the Turks I always wondered about the waitresses. They were often excessively nice; here I always thought it had something to do with the job."

I smirk back at him. "Ahem, well, it doesn't hurt that the uniform is a tailor-made suit, or that they only seem to hire dangerously attractive men and women for the job."

He looks a little skeptical at my admission. "Reno and Rude?" he asks disbelieving.

I laugh lightly. " _Are you kidding?_ If we weren't trying to kill them on a semi-regular basis, I would have had to _rope_ Yuffie to the Highwind to keep her from mauling Rude."

"And Reno?" he asks and I almost can't believe it. _Wanting to know how your competition measured up, Vincent?_

I grin deviously."Oh—Reno, _Reno,_ now he had a whole shabby-chic thing going on that some girls find particularly appealing."

" _Some_ girls?" Vincent continues, apparently not content to let the subject drop.

" _This_ girl," I wink back. "But it was severely hampered by his ridiculous tendency to beat the shit out of us all with an electrical nightstick. So don't worry, I won't be running into his arms any time soon."

He seems amused by my honesty, though we're interrupted for a moment by a runner who delivers our drinks.

Taking a sip of my drink I have to bite back the urge to shake my head—damn strong.

I continue with our conversation, curiosity getting the best of me as well. "Don't tell me you never noticed Elena in her little pants suit?"

He shrugs elegantly at me before reaching out to take a sip of his own drink. "I've never had a thing for blonds."

I lean back into my chair and take another sip. "I'm going to call bullshit on this one, Vincent."

Obviously trying to distract me Vincent slides slightly forward, close enough so that he can rest his fingertips along the hem of my skirt. "Why is that?"

I cough a bit to clear my head, I know he's trying to keep me from getting answers so I buckle down and concentrate—hard. It's a difficult thing to do when you have a Vincent Valentine practically sliding himself against your body.

Rising to the challenge, I lean close enough so that he can feel my breath on his neck. "I seem to remember…" softly whispering against his ear, I see him swallow thickly. "…A certain Mr. Valentine being pretty damn fixated on one Elena's breasts."

"Oh, and when would that have been?" his low voice rumbles.

I let my lips softly graze his earlobe and am rewarded with a low hiss. "When one Tifa had a fistful of Elena's shirt in her hand and body-slammed her against the concrete. Buttons don't stand up too well to that kind of attention. Remember now? They ran off after that, but I recall distinctly every male in my party gawking like perverts while she tried to compose herself."

He straightened his back at the memory with a guilty expression as I lean casually into my chair, the look on my face smug— _Gotcha._

"I plead the fifth," is all he says.

I laugh at him. "I'll bet you do."

The waitress returns and unfortunately is still completely obvious about her infatuation with Vincent. After the longest order taking in history— _Really, there isn't anything else I can help you with? **Anything?** I think you'd be surprised at just what I can do for you as your waitress_—she finally leaves us alone.

"Find a place to live yet?" I asked, genuinely curious whether or not Mr. Vagabond Valentine was ever going to pick a place and set up roots. "Or are you still content with couch-surfing?" I tease.

He shrugs noncommittally. "Freelance work sends me away so often it's hard to get attached to one area.

I smile at him; I was _kind of_ hoping he'd get attached to _my_ area, but I don't say it. I'm glad enough that he's comfortable calling on me for visits and, recently, _maybe_ more.

"Well, if you're ever looking for a place in town I know a really great real estate agent—a regular at the bar. Just say the word," I hint ever so subtly.

He half-smirks back at me. "I'll keep it in mind."

Almost as if remembering something, Vincent's expression changes to one of slight annoyance.

I lean in towards him. "What's wrong?"

"I heard from Barret yesterday."

"Oh," I reply; Vincent does contract kills for Barret's company from time to time. Mostly remnants and overactive animals getting too close to the dig sites. "And?"

"Cloud's back at the Ancient City. He picked up his coordinates. Barret wanted me to tell you." He seems to feel guilty for not telling me right away and I call him out on it.

"You should have waited till I was plied with liquor and food before telling me."

"I wanted to get it out of the way; he _insisted_ ," he replies honestly annoyed now.

I look away from him, staring out at the empty dance floor, watching the lights flicker along the lacquered wood floor.

"Last I heard from Cloud was a few weeks ago when he was with Cid and Shera. But I don't know why I'm supposed to be responsible for him anymore," I say.

Vincent shrugs at me. "Barret seemed to think you needed to know."

"So what, I'd swoop in and rescue him again? I'm not his fairy fucking god-mother; I'm not even his girlfriend anymore." I'm being petulant and I know it; truth is, I do care, but I can't keep going back if he's not willing to ever move forward.

"Tell you what, Vincent. Next time Barret tells you to play messenger boy you tell him to grow a pair and call me himself. If he's so damned concerned _he_ can hike his ass up there and check on Cloud. I think it's time someone else had to take time out of their busy schedule to go up and remind Cloud that he's an adult with responsibilities."

"I agree, and will be sure to pass on the message to Barret if the opportunity presents itself again," he says softly.

I shift closer to him, so I can touch his hand. "Look Vincent, I don't want this to be a night about anything other than us. So just forget Cloud, forget Barret, forget it all. Tonight it's just me and you."

He seems relieved by my comment and I'm glad for it.

"Agreed," he says finally.

I've been playing the Cloud game for years—longer than I really should have. And I do care, but I've spent so much of my life caring about other people that for a while it was like I was living their lives and not living my own.

It's not fair to me and it certainly isn't healthy for them. So, when we ended and Cloud left for the last time, I made a promise to myself that I would do my best to make myself happy.

I don't know if it's coming along perfectly, but it's a work in progress.

Dinner passes in a whirl of wine, meats and cheese and soon my head is relatively stress-free (minus one tacky waitress) and floating among the stars; though that may have had something to do with the wine, or the fact that my dinner companion is positively sinful, who's to say?

Then comes the dancing. We haven't had desert yet and it was kind of expected that you stay late, enjoy the music and then continue to dine more.

But it was do or die time for me and my feet.

Vincent signals his intent to move our little dinner party from the dining room to the dance floor by standing.

"Are you ready?" he asks while leading me out to dance.

I think that I am, so I nod and smile. If I thought that I knew what it was to dance with Vincent Valentine before, then I was entirely mistaken.

The first time I danced with him was amazing, well, what I could remember of it was anyways. But this—this was a horse of a different color entirely. I guess there's a difference between dancing with someone when you're completely drunk and having the entire experience seem rather surreal, and doing it (mostly) sober when things are much more tactile and visceral.

I definitely enjoy Vincent when he's more _tactile._

What we were doing before, the first time we danced together, was more like going through the motions, or like Vincent moving _me_ through the motions.

This time I'm aware of every tiny, little detail: the smell of Vincent's cologne as our bodies slide against one another, the way his fingers slowly glide along my lower back during an inside turn, the way his eyes almost seem to glow when I brake contact and spin so that the bottom of my dress skims the top of my thighs.

I've heard dancing described as an ebb and flow, almost like the tide gently coming together with the shore; this was more like a storm crashing on the rocks.

The more we dance the closer we seem to get, till I couldn't tell where Vincent ended and I began. So I let myself move with the beat. Our bodies thrumming from each other's contact: hips brushing, hands lingering, breathe panting.

I guess this is what Robert was talking about when he said salsa is the dance of sex because it certainly keeps it on your mind.

Finally, there's a break in the music and I can catch my breath and my rapidly disintegrating state of being.

We make our way off the floor, Vincent leading the way, towards a corner with chairs set up for the dancers.

Unfortunately, with my mind as rattled as it is, I fail to register the slight dip between the dance floor and the carpet and gracelessly launch myself forward in a lurch.

Luckily, Vincent seems to have a preternatural sense for when I'm about to make an ass of myself, so I pretty much just launch myself into his body.

We were close on the dance floor, closer than I thought possible while dancing, that's for sure, but this was a different level of contact.

Vincent had dipped while I slipped and consequently my leg had somehow wrapped itself around his thigh, with my right arm high up on his chest and the other wrapped tightly behind his back.

Vincent's hand caught me high on my thigh; the other was behind my neck to stabilize my upper body.

I shiver at our nearness. His scent invades my senses again, his warmth radiates off of him. I can feel his chest expanding against my own, his breath along the small hairs of my neck; thirty more seconds of this and I think I'm going to jump him on the side of the dance floor.

Probably sensing my tension, Vincent pulls us both upright and my leg skims slowly down his to the floor. His hand trails firmly down my leg, probably to stabilize me as I get pulled upright, but it catches me off guard and I let out a soft gasp, my eyes darting up to his.

_Oh no,_ I think, _not **just** to stabilize me._

His eyes are glinting and I think a small smirk is curving in the left corner of his mouth.

Oh, you _jackass._ Two can play at this.

With both feet planted firmly on the floor, I can begin my attack. I slowly curl my fingers into the fabric at his chest, delighting at the soft scratching noise they make before I let them trail upwards to settle along the curve of his neck. I let my eyes wander his face, lingering at his mouth, my tongue peeking out to wet my lips.

Apparently not one to be beaten at his own game, Vincent raises his fingers to my lips, thumb softly brushing against my bottom lip while his other hand slowly twines around my middle, holding me close.

I let my tongue flick out along his thumb and his eyes widen slightly.

"Thirsty?" he asks. I can tell he's trying to sound collected, but his voice has a huskier sound to it than I'm used to hearing, so I know I'm getting to him.

Trouble is, he's getting to me too.

"Yes..." I softly hiss.

A hint of a smile grazes his lips and he motions towards the chairs.

I nod as I reluctantly disentangle myself. Slowly the hand around my middle directs me towards the chairs along the perimeter of the dance floor.

I can't help but feel slightly bereft at the loss of his touch, but I'm a tough girl so I can manage the thirty seconds he'll take to get us drinks.

He returns quickly, almost as if he was missing the contact as much as I was.

His finger tips slide along the inside of my wrist as he hands me a glass of punch—and man, is it ever _punch_. He takes the seat next to me as I quickly guzzle my drink; I wasn't lying, I _am_ thirsty and getting giddy from the drinks.

"New moves," he comments in a low tone.

"Lessons," I reply.

"Hnn." He seems to mull that idea over.

_Yes,_ Vincent. I took lessons so that if I ever had the opportunity to dance in public again I wouldn't make a huge ass out of myself.

I'm only _slightly_ avoiding the fact that I also took the lessons in the hopes of being able to keep up with _him,_ but who's to know? He can't read minds. At least, _I think_ he can't.

I eye Vincent suspiciously and his eyes seem to gleam with amusement back.

_Jerk_. I think huffily.

"Ready for another?" he asks.

I look over at the dance floor where the music has picked up again. "It's really slow," I comment. “Didn't practice much with the slow stuff.”

He shrugs. "Easier than the faster dancing."

I point my toes out, stretching my legs. "I don't know, Vincent; this song sounds like one of those sappy, sad things where the guy's singing about losing his girl, then losing his truck, then losing his dog. You sure you're up for it?"

Vincent stands beside me and holds his hand out. "Let's go, Tifa."

I huff out melodramatically. "Fine..." I whine. "But if I step all over your toes it's _your_ fault."

"Deal," he says while directing me to the floor.

Okay, here's the issue. I can dance slowly, really I can, but I prefer not to. As sexy as Salsa is, I think slow dancing with Vincent might kill me—too much time to take it all in.

He pulls me close, right arm low on my waist, left shoulder-level and locked with my own. Since looking down isn't supposed to be an option while dancing, I look up, which is all sorts of bad considering I have to stare directly into his eyes.

I sigh softly; lovely eyes that they are. So dark they almost seem black and yet, there's those flecks of red that have a tendency to flash when I least expect it—hauntingly beautiful.

He leads us effortlessly; he really _is_ a magnificent dancer and we seem to move well together.

_Which bodes well for later,_ my mind so helpfully reminds me.

I blush and he looks at me curiously but says nothing, so instead I focus on the dance and the movement of our bodies.

It truly feels like we're floating to the music, it's that effortless and I'm reminded of something my grandmother used to say: the couple that dances well together stays together.

Now, I'm not entirely sure how much truth there is to her adage, but my grandfather and grandmother _did_ stay married for almost fifty years, so maybe she was on to something.

Either that or dancing keeps one's ass looking nice and fine so sexiness is never an issue with a dancing couple.

My mind is more inclined to believe the latter.

The song isn't as bad as I made it out to be, it actually has a really pretty melody and being led around the dance floor with someone as handsome as Vincent is definitely helping the soundtrack.

I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder and in response he tightens his hold around my waist. I smile against his shoulder and breathe deeply.

_He smells so nice..._

"So tell me, Vincent." I try to keep my mind from wandering too far off track. "Was dancing as a Turk all business? Or were you able to mix it up and have fun once and a while?"

He swirls me out while formulating an answer, before pulling me back close. "Mostly business, though when I was young my friends and I would go dancing every weekend. It was the thing to do," he adds by way of an explanation.

I smile up at him. "Oh, I understand, it was the fashion then. My parents told me stories of how they did the same thing when they were young..." I trail off. "I mean...not that you would be my parent's age if they were alive or anything...err…um..."

There I go again, sticking my big fat Tifa sized foot right in my mouth.

He has a short laughs at my embarrassment. We'd always seemed to strategically avoid the subject of his _true_ age, considering he really _was_ old enough to be my father. Or would have been had the whole stasis not happened.

"I'm sorry, Vincent, I'm trying to keep things light and here I go bringing up the past."

Vincent shakes his head at me. "Not everything about our lives will ever be happy, or sad. But what we have lived through makes us who we are and presents certain opportunities to us that would not have existed otherwise."

I smile gratefully up at him. "I'm glad you somehow made it into my life, Vincent."

"As am I," he says as the song ends. "And don't worry Tifa, age truly is just a number as far as I am concerned."

"Really?" I ask curiously as he leads us back to the table.

"Really," he agrees. "It was as if I didn't live those years. Even as they passed, they had no affect on me."

He pulls out my chair for me again and I sit down without catching anything. "That's very weird."

Vincent nods in agreement.

"Still..." I add. "What's your excuse for the Dirty Martinis? You _know_ only old bankers drink those, right?"

He chuckles softly. "Old habits die hard?" he offers.

I shrug. "I guess I'll let you have that one." I have to wonder, though, why someone who isn't affected by alcohol still drinks socially. I guess it's the memories that go along with certain tastes and smells and I silently hope that whatever moment of Vincent's past the drink reminds him of is a happy one.

Brooding thoughts aside, it's time for dessert and coffee, apparently. I'm not particularly used to drinking coffee _after_ a meal, but I know it's the custom. Just seems odd to me that you'd drink a stimulant after dinner and before bed. Then again, I guess it keeps you from falling asleep on your way home.

Our doe eyed waitress returns, breathlessly inquiring as to whether or not we need anything, anything at all, even a lap dance if he were to so request it of her.

Okay, so maybe she didn't make the last comment, but her eyes more than gave away that she was truly hoping he’d request one. I'd say I was jealous if I didn't find the whole spectacle entirely too hilarious. The barely restrained adoration, Vincent's barely concealed embarrassment and my absolutely unconcealed amusement.

"Just coffee and crème brulé, please," he says a bit dryly, motioning to the platter of deserts she's laid before us. I let him dismiss the waitress for us as I get a sick thrill out of forcing him to talk to her. I'm practically hysterical by the time she walks away and he looks over at me with his eyebrow raised sharply. "Feel free to jump in at any time, Tifa," he says almost tartly.

I grin at his expense. "Oh no, no, _too_ much fun watching," I laugh out. "Maybe you'll get lucky and she'll spoon-feed you from your lap."

He raises an eyebrow, leaning closer towards me he silkily purrs, "It's not _her_ who I'd like to be in my lap."

They _almost_ catch me off guard, those sexy little comments, which I'm sure he says to get back at me for picking at him. But this time, whether it's the alcohol or the head rush that is Vincent, I'm cocky and ready.

I shift in closer so that my hand is able to rest on his knee. "You sure you can handle it, Vincent? Last time I ended up in your lap I seem to recall _you_ slept on the couch."

His hand softly slides over mine and he pulls it up to his mouth, kissing the inside of my wrist. I bite my lip with anticipation.

His eyes darken and the look he gives me is positively sinful. "Why Tifa," he starts, voice husky, lips brushing against the inside of my hand. "Who said I was talking about _you?"_

My mouth does drop open then and I quickly draw my hand back, but not before smacking him lightly on the knee.

"You're terrible," I say, genuinely annoyed. "You couldn't handle me _anyways,"_ I huff out.

He seems to find that comment amusing. "I _was_ a Turk, Tifa. I can handle almost anything."

I wink at him. "We'll see. One more for the road?" I say while gesturing to the dance floor.

"I was actually wondering if you'd accompany me to a lounge I frequent…" he asks, almost as if he's afraid of my reaction.

And he's _damn_ right to be worried. A lounge— _other than mine_ —and right under my own nose no less!

"Vincent Valentine," I almost start huffing with mock-anger. "You _dare_ visit another bar when you know mine is the best that there is, was, and ever will be. I'm too _hurt_ to be angry," I say, allowing my face to go into a pout.

"You are closed on Mondays," he points out.

"Nevertheless," I continue adamantly. "You're still going to have to make it up to me for your horrible betrayal."

"Oh?" His eyebrow raises slightly.

"Oh, yes," both my eyebrows waggle at him. "I haven't decided how, yet. But it will have to be a pretty severe punishment."

"Really," he drawls.

" _Really,"_ I mimic back. "Just you wait, Vincent Valentine. It's going to be _good._ "

"I shiver with…anticipation…" With his canines slightly bared, he draws the word out into something that sends electricity down _my_ spine.

I cough, sputter and blush a little. "So uh…where's the place?"

He smirks at my reaction. "Corner of Essence and Chace; The Black Lagoon. It's a short drive."

_Oh,_ _well, at least he has great taste,_ I think to myself.

The place isn't really competition for me, it's more of an upscale lounge where I'm more of an everyman's kind of bar—completely different clientele.

"Drive? Are you in any sort of condition to be driving?" I tease. I know the alcohol doesn't affect Vincent at all anymore, not like it does me.

"You're not," he says. "But I am more than capable, though I'd question your driving abilities even when sober."

"Hey," I pout. "Just because a girl drives through one glass monument in one Shinra building, doesn't make her a bad driver."

"What does it make her?" he asks.

"Destructive." I wink and he gives me a sexy smile back.

We settle the bill; he pays and I'm okay with that considering how many times he's come to the bar and mooched off of me.

And I find he's right, the lounge is a short drive from the restaurant, so short that I barely have time to register the change of scenery.

We walk right past the long queue at the entrance; Vincent casually shaking hands with the bouncer as we make our way past the velvet rope.

  1. Apparently he _does_ come here often.



The host greets us at the entrance where Vincent makes small talk (who even knew he knew _how_ to make small talk?) before we're led into a softly lit, cozy little corner of the lounge.

Apparently, he reserved ahead because every other spot in the place is full. The room is filled with little booths, sporadic tables and a high-table bar. The place is buzzing low along to the jazzy music apparently in anticipation of a performance.

A crew is hurriedly setting up the instruments on the black, tiny stage while the band seems to be hanging out in one of the booths.

Getting cozy, our waiter, blessedly male and professional, takes our drink orders before leaving us to talk.

Vincent looks over at me from across the little table, almost smiling, and asks, "Having fun?"

I smile brightly back at him, because I am. "Of course, I always having fun when I'm with you. Saving the world aside, though I don't think that was all bad."

"I've always wanted to take you here," he confesses and I blush a little at his honesty.

"Why didn't you?" I ask.

"Never the right time," he says, as the waiter returns with our drinks.

I sip mine slowly, savoring it. Okay, so, maybe savoring it isn't quite right, it's more like I'm taking it easy. With the dancing and the drinking and the being in the general vicinity of Mr. Valentine, my head is feeling light.

"And now?"

"Perfect time."

I nod in agreement. I haven't been certain about much in my life, but I know that my life with Vincent in it just feels right.

"So why this place, Vincent?" I ask, curiosity rearing its incredible cat-shaped head.

"The music is fantastic. Out of this world jazz."

Ahh, so finally after me forcing everyone in my vicinity on the Highwind to listen to my music, someone finally recognizes that I have a thing for jazz.

"Guess my incessant music on the ship had an impact?" I tease.

He shrugs lightly before beckoning me closer as the music starts. "I've always loved it."

And he's completely right, the band and the singer are intensely ethereal. And so, tapping along to the beat while quietly humming the songs and drinking merrily along, I find myself at the end of the night and the middle of the encore with my arm woven through Vincent's and my body leaning heavily into his.

We didn't speak much, not with the music playing as loud as it was. We just sat and enjoyed the closeness of each other.

I've never had a date like this before; usually the silence is so boring to me that I feel the need to fill it up with _anything_. But not with Vincent.

"Last call," he says as the loud music is replaced by the soft sounds of stock music from the speakers and the voices of the remaining patrons.

"Oh," I laugh softly. "I am _done._ "

Vincent takes a moment to brush a stray lock of hair out of my face before saying, "Thank you."

I wrinkle my face up at him. "For what, Vincent? I should be thanking you for such a wonderful evening."

He shakes his head at me. "No, I mean, thank you for not giving up on me."

Insight dawns on me and I grin mischievously. "Oh no, you are _not_ thanking me for poking and prodding you all these years—trying to keep you from being a hermit?"

He chuckles softly. "Not exactly in those words."

I lean in, alcohol making me braver than I actually feel and kiss him softly at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, Vincent," I softly breathe out against his lips.

"For what?" he says so quiet that I almost don't hear it.

"Letting me in."

The look he gives me is heavenly to behold and for a moment I'm as happy as I have ever been, wishing for nothing more than the night to never end.

* * *

 

**A/N~ Oh, Dr. Frank-N-Furter, you're so delish. Half-assed quote from Rocky Horror- if you can find it, which for some reason is on my mind at the moment- must be Tim Curry's legs- bitch. NoI'mnotjealous- yesIam.**

**Sorry for the wait, it's a little longer than usual so hopefully that somewhat makes up for it :)**

**This one was kind of hard for me to write, probably because I started it one month and then picked it up the next- damn travel I love you so much. I kind of hated it when I started, but now I'm digging it. Hopefully it was worth the wait. The rest shouldn't be so delayed- depressingly not traveling anymore lol. As always, thank you for your time and reviews. You all really are the best and I appreciate the comments- even the silent ones like the alerts and favs. Truly makes my day. Also- I rewatched the video for the Shinra escape in FF7 and it's REALLY damn hard to tell who is driving that little blue truck, so for my purposes it's Tifa.**

**2015 edits! Moved some words around. Deleted some adjectives. Cleaned up dialog tags. Loves! Thanks for reading, as always!**

**_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole_** ~ ** _Do not use in whole or in part without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_**

 


	4. Imagine that you're there with me

**_A big thanks goes out to my awesome beta Fostersb—thank you for all your work and input! I really appreciate it!_ **

* * *

 

_**When I look up from my pillow** _   
_**I dream you are there with me**_   
_**Though you are far away**_   
_**I know you'll always be near to me**_

_**Yeah, I go to sleep** _   
_**And imagine that you're there with me**_   
_**I go to sleep**_   
_**And imagine that you're there with me**_

**_I Go to Sleep, Sia_ **

* * *

 

"Tifa." I distantly register that someone's calling my name.

"Hmm?" I hazily reply.

I really have to stop this daydreaming, it's becoming a problem. Well, not a problem for me, but I suppose it's rather annoying for anyone who has to deal with me.

But it's just so easy as my source material is grade-a fantastic, so it's kind of hard _not_ to daydream.

"Tifa, _"_ says the voice a little more insistently, okay, _a lot_ more insistently.

"Yeah, yeah." I turn in the direction of the voice. Cookie is glaring at me. "What, honey?"

He raises his eyebrows up at me. "Three orders are up and table eight's been waiting for their drinks close to ten minutes now."

"Shit," I curse; okay, so maybe it's becoming a problem for _me_ too. I round the corner of the bar, talking over my shoulder, "On it, on it. Thanks Cookie!"

"Shit, Teef, when's your vacation time again?" he says through the order window after making his way back into the kitchen.

"Two weeks," I reply while hastily mixing the drinks.

The vacation time is mandatory, as demanded by my crew. Otherwise they'd never get rid of me.

"You need it," he says with a smirk.

I roll my eyes at him and just like that my mind is sharp and I'm back on my game: a few extra drinks on the house and no one's left unsatisfied.

Well, except me.

 _Just what is going on between us?_ I wonder later, when things in the bar have calmed down.

I know, we both seem determined to take things slow, but it's different when you've known someone for as long as I've known Vincent.

We've gone through lifetimes of troubles together; we've been through more than anyone else will ever have to go through and we still came out kicking.

 _So, do you want things to go faster?_ My mind picks at me, _I don't know._ I answer honestly.

Maybe I do, maybe I don't.

My mind travels back to last night… for the tenth time today…

Vincent had dropped me off at home after the lounge. He'd gotten out, opened my door, taken me to the entrance, like a gentleman, and waited while I fumbled with my keys at the main door.

The light flickered above us and though I didn't want the evening to end, I wasn't too sure about continuing things inside either.

"Thank you for the wonderful night, Vincent. See you soon?" I'd asked, hopefully.

He'd leaned in a bit then, his right hand coming up to softly brush back an errant piece of my hair.

"A week, probably. An associate of Barret's contracted me. I'll be near old Corel till the job is finished."

"Lots of remnants?" I asked, raising my hands to worry at the collar on his jacket. He's a big boy, I know this, and more importantly, I've seen what he can do with a gun. But it doesn't keep me from being concerned about him.

"Hnn." He shrugged noncommittally.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "That good, huh? Well, watch your six. I won't be there to save your ass, this time."

"That was one time, Tifa," he said as I leaned into him.

"Still lucky Barret and I decided to check after you didn't radio in. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to hide from Behemoths in trees?" I'd teased, rubbing my nose into his chest. "You know they'll just knock it down."

"I suppose I needed guardian angel that night." He'd run a hand into the nape of my neck then, tilting my head slowly.

"Final Heaven…" I'd breathed, tongue darting out to wet my lips. "…it's called Final Heaven…"

He'd bridged the gap between us then, lips brushing, testing against mine. "…Perfect name for you then."

I'd pulled him firmly downward at that point and into my kiss.

If Cloud had been little sparks, listlessness and frustration, Vincent was a slow burn, breathlessness, and need.

I'd wondered about this, dreamt about this, imagined about this moment for so long that I wasn't going to miss the opportunity by letting Vincent be 'the gentleman'.

Apparently he wasn't going to miss the opportunity either.

I'd backed Vincent into the entrance of the door and traced my hands upward around his neck, sliding the tie from his hair, my fingers finding their way through the strands, my body molding to his. He'd returned my efforts by softly massaging the back of my neck while his other hand skimmed lower to the curve of my hip.

Vincent was a miraculous kisser, alternating between softly pulling his lips and slowly swirling his tongue. I had completely forgotten our current location and instead surrendered myself to the power of his lips and hands and body.

His hand caressed upwards, thumb skimming the bottom of my breast and I'd purred my pleasure into his mouth.

Nipping, pulling at my lips, he'd groaned softly as one of my hands had dropped to slowly claw its way down his chest.

"Tifa…" he'd murmured against my lips.

"Hmm…?" I'd barely registered the sound of his voice.

"We should...move…" His voice had ended with a soft groan as I'd used the hand threaded through his hair to pull his mouth back against mine.

His hand skimmed down again, trailing a slow path along my torso before finally coming to rest low on my back.

I smirked internally. _He wants to move lower, but can't quite work up the nerve._ Sweet, still-shy Vincent, meet brash, flirty Tifa. Working up onto my tip-toes, he'd had no choice but to grab a hold on the upper curve of my ass, or risk me falling awkwardly to the side.

He'd choked a little in surprise at that move—Vincent flustered is a sweet sight to see—before regaining his confidence enough to tease breathlessly, "I didn't want to seem like I was taking liberties."

"I think the one taking liberties is me," I'd said between alternately nibbling and pulling on his exposed neck. I'd more firmly pressed his body against the door with mine, secretly thrilling at the way his hands held me tight against him: one against my ass and the other at the back of my neck.

A girl could get used to being in this man's strong arms.

Peripherally I might have noticed movement behind us and Vincent definitely should have noticed the noises. But I had completely ignored it as had he; obviously we had more important things on our minds.

No, it wasn't until the door release was pressed from inside, eliciting a loud buzzing noise and a click of a lock that we had thought to move aside or risk falling inward with the door.

The door opened and a loud cough made its way from the chest of our interloper.

"Miss Lockhart," said Mr. Haban, my elderly neighbour, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Out for his nightly walk with Tara, his dog, apparently.

"Mr. Haban…" I'd murmured, blushing, as we both slowly regained our senses.

His little toy-like dog sniffed suspiciously at us as she was half-dragged by; Mr. Haban might have softly said something about "young love" but I was too embarrassed to really take note of it.

Standing awkwardly in the awning, Vincent and I kind of laughed with each other.

"See you in a week?" he'd asked, a faint blush staining his cheeks. Who knew, Vincent can blush.

I slid my arms around his middle and hugged him tight. "In a week," I'd promised. And he'd hugged back before reluctantly pulling away.

"Sweet dreams, Vincent." I winked as he slowly made his way back to the car park.

"Sweet dreams, Tifa," he said, a slight smile curling at the side of his lips, before making his way back to the car.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts again. _No time to daydream in a busy bar!_ I tell myself, thought I somehow can't keep the goofy smile from appearing.

Memories pushed to the back of my mind for now, the rest of the night speeds by at the bar and soon enough it's time for last call. It's been a fairly regular night, all except for one table in the centre, number six.

They'd come in around nine, some suits apparently in the mood to let off some steam. One thing that hadn't seemed to disappear with the end of the world: business people. There were oodles of them before and with the rebuild there were oodles of them now. I guess someone has to be there to finance everything and make money off of it. Luckily for the world, the big banks, (well, the ones that _hadn't_ collapsed with all the upheaval ) had been there to foot the bill.

Which is a good and a bad thing; good because it means we're slowly getting back what we lost, bad because I have to deal with the jackasses those institutions shoot out.

It reminds me of a joke I heard a long time ago: what's the difference between bankers and pigs? When pigs get drunk they don't act like bankers.

Yes, these men are certainly playing the part tonight: loud, obnoxious, and self-important. Nothing I haven't seen before.

And fortunately they are not at my table, but unfortunately they are at Kara's. She's a sweet, little thing, but she's got spunk and I have to remember not to underestimate the girl in all her tiny, blonde glory.

I watch her as she approaches the table; the girl's a seasoned professional, so it takes a lot for her to get flustered, but I think this table is going to be an _issue_ tonight.

There are four of them, nothing that I can't handle by any means; I just don't like the bad press that goes along with bar fights. So hopefully it won't come to me and Cookie having to throw them out on their sorry asses.

I try to listen as Kara talks over the music to take their final drink orders—which sure as fuck better be for water because they're not getting _any_ more booze out of me.

Apparently they're just asking for the bill and Kara turns to come over to the bar. But before she's able to move completely away from the group, one of the men at the table snakes an arm out and pulls her into his lap. Big guy, for a businessman, the biggest at the table; he must have a relative high up because he obviously is making up for his lack of brains with brawns.

I grip the countertop hard; he's got three seconds before I'm over there shoving his head up his ass. Bad press be damned, you do _not_ treat my coworkers like that.

 _One_. Kara's a strong girl and I've seen her get herself out of bad situations before. But I think the issue is being compounded by the fact that the other jackasses at the table are egging him on and also that, as far as they can see, there are only girls working tonight so they feel we don't pose a threat.

Too bad they obviously don't seem to know who _I_ am and what I've done. Thirty seconds tops, me and Cookie would have these pricks out and in the gutter.

 _Two_. The hand around Kara's waist is moving steadily upwards, the jeers from his friends are louder and more insistent. Kara's squirming and yelling, trying to break free.

 _Three_. A hand goes on the boob and I'm vaulting over the counter, shouting at Cooking for some backup.

Luckily, my vault seems to startle some sense into the groper's drunken mind and his grip on Kara loosens enough so that she's able to give him a vicious elbow to the sternum and break free. I'm all up in his face half a second after that, hand on his collar, boot between his leg—ready to grind.

Okay, so what most people don't know and what I sure don't volunteer to them is that I am strong. Very strong, able to extract unruly patrons from my bar by their pants in less than thirty seconds kind of strong.

We all came back changed after the encounter with Sephiroth and the Lifestream, Cloud and I especially. I guess falling right in there might have had something to do with it. After everything had settled down, we'd begun to notice subtle differences in ourselves: increased strength, agility and then there's the whole _aging_ issue. Or lack thereof.

Reeve had found us a doctor that specialized in Mako poisoning and also the after-effects that contact with the Lifestream could have on a person. After running what seemed like never-ending tests on us he'd been able to reasonably determine that the cells in our bodies regenerated at a higher rate than those of a normal person, so we're aging _slower._

It'd made dating after Cloud an incredibly interesting issue. I guess it's why we stayed together for so long; who else would be able to understand?

I'm not really invincible, not by a long shot, but not really normal either. And I'm sure about to make this guy's life a hell of a lot more miserable.

"Pay up, boys," I grind out, my grip tightening around the collar of his neck.

"Or what, bitch?" One of them has the guts to say. He's skinny with glasses and sitting in the corner. Bet you feel real tough with this guy as a friend, eh?

I glare over at him. "You want an example? Fine."

My foot slams down on the floor as I put my left hand around the collar of the brute currently trapped in my grip. I tighten my fist, hauling him up so fast and hard that he chokes a little. With hardly any effort I parade his ass over towards the door, his feet stumbling as he tries to keep up, open the entrance to my bar and throw his ass on the pavement.

I turn back towards the table, the occupants gawking in disbelief. Cookie has joined me from the back, a menacing presence leaning against the bar counter, kitchen knife crossed over his chest. He's as big as Barret, but with less middle and more muscle.

"Who's next?" I ask casually. Brains finally working, the men quickly assess the situation and realize they are _way_ out of their league before throwing cash down on the table and scattering out of the bar.

I walk over to the door and yell out, "DO NOT COME BACK!" As I slam the door, locking it.

Turning back to my crew, I look over at Cookie standing there, grease and grime splattered on his apron, face set with grim determination and I can't help but laugh. "A kitchen knife? Seriously?"

All two-hundred and fifty pounds of Cookie stands before me; pretty damn menacing if you don't know him, considering three-quarters of that mass is muscle. Add the knife and you've got something straight out of a horror movie.

He shrugs. "I was prepping for tomorrow and forgot to put it down."

"I think it helped," Kara volunteers.

I rush over to her and grab her by the shoulders; in the heat of the moment I'd forgotten to make sure she was safe. "Oh, Kara. Are you okay? I was going to jump over sooner, but I just didn't think they'd go that far."

She leans in and gives me a quick hug. "I'm fine, I thought he'd just do the usual pull me into his lap and then let me go laughing; I didn't think it would get bad so quick either."

"Weeell…" I start. "I've had just about enough fun for tonight, what do you guys think?"

Cookie gives me a wink and Kara shoots me a slight nod.

"Right then, what do you guys say we half-ass this place tonight and get the hell out early?"

Cookie flashes a magnificent grin at me. "You said it, boss."

Kara shrugs at me, "I open with Cookie tomorrow, so it's no big deal for me. What time you coming in tomorrow, Tifa?" she asks.

I reach into my apron and pull out my PHS, checking the calendar for any appointments. "Probably not till near closing; I have Vicky starting for mid-shift; it should be enough coverage for a weeknight. Call me if things get hairy though, okay?"

"You got it," Cookie agrees.

We're pretty good at keeping things tidy throughout the night, so incidentally the bar isn't half bad, even with us rushing through the clean up. They won't have much to prep for in the morning at all.

We finish and gather our things, meeting at the front entrance—damn lights are still broken in the back; I _really_ should get to that.

"Okay guys, just wait here and don't move or the sensor will pick you up. I'm going to run to the back and set the alarm and then we'll mosey out the front."

Cookie, for some reason, always has a problem with this—standing still that is. He's the kind of guy who enjoys moving— _all the time._ I'll catch him in the kitchen dancing away to some tune or another on his radio, frying and flipping and tidying—almost at the same time.

I admire his ability to multitask like that.

Making my way to the back, I stop for a moment at my office and make sure to lock the door. Maybe I'm over-cautious, considering the alarm and all, but it's just one more layer they have to go through in order to get to my safe.

I never do bank runs at night, it's way too dangerous. I learned that the first time around with the first Seventh Heaven after Barret came back bruised and bloody. Things aren't nearly as dangerous as they were in the slums, but I'm not about to take chances with either myself or my crew. It can wait.

"Okay, I'm punching it! Stand still!" I yell to the front.

Their muffled replies catch my ears and I go ahead. "Okay, move, move, move!" I say as I speed walk to the front door.

I make it out the door with time enough to lock it up properly. "Good job, guys; Cookie, I think that's a record—I didn't have to reset the alarm once!"

"Ha, ha," he replies. "At least I haven't locked myself in the walk-in cooler before. Fifteen minutes of pounding before you noticed the foot release on the ground? Must have been mighty cold in there."

"Hey!" I cry. "You promised it was our secret!"

Cookie gives me a wink as they both make their way to their cars. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone else who was working that night _._ Kara wasn't working."

I can see her trying to reign in her laughter. "Like it's never happened to anyone else before, traitor."

"See you tomorrow, Tifa," Kara manages to get out between laughs.

I grumble, feigning anger, "Yeah, with pink slips in my hand!"

They both laugh at me as they get into their cars and make their way home.

It's not too late, otherwise I might hitch a ride with one of them. Summer's getting close, so the days are getting longer and I need the walk after the altercation at the end of the night.

The walk does me good and soon I'm humming along to my own happy little tune. The city lights flicker to life before me, stretching my shadow out along the pavement.

It's not a bad neighborhood, relatively quiet with a few mom and pop grocery stores and some corner restaurants. With city garbage starting up again, the streets are cleaner than they ever were- though this time around people seems to be better at appreciating what they have and taking care of it. Passing my favorite coffee shop, which unfortunately closes at nine, I round the corner to my street and cross to over to the entrance of my building.

I pass through the entrance and quickly make my way up two flights of stairs before I'm appreciatively inside my apartment.

First things first—in through the door and the work clothes come off. I walk into the little laundry corner beside the entrance and thoroughly strip myself, remembering to leave my keys and PHS on _top_ of the washer.

I've remembered too late that it was in my pocket one too many times. Two-hundred and fifty gil for a new PHS and Tifa's not a happy girl.

After that, I covertly make my way over to my bathroom—big windows are great, but only if you're okay with flashing the neighbors. I guess I could drop my clothes in the bathroom, but when they're already in the hamper it just makes it that much easier for me to wash them.

And lord knows anything that makes doing the laundry easier is good in my books. _I hate_ doing laundry.

I shuffle to the shower and make good use of it—scrubbing the day out of my hair and off of my skin.

I wonder if there's anything more satisfying than a long, hot shower after a stressful day?

 _Yes_ , the answer pops into my mind. _Long, hot sex._ Damn mind! Even it is against me.

But damn Vincent, mostly.

I finish with my shower then wrap a towel around myself before quickly making my way over to my bathroom vanity to find my brush.

Pulling the brush through my hair is getting to be quite painful. The dry ends get all caught up around the prongs. _Must make an appointment for a trim,_ I think to myself as I inspect the ends in the mirror.

Deciding to let my hair air-dry, I finish toweling myself off and hang the damp, fluffy thing on the back of my door and switch it for my fuzzy, blue robe.

Normally I'd make my way to the closet and find my pajamas, but I'm feeling lazy tonight so it's just me, the robe and my couch. I do grab a nice, big, comfy blanket from the top of my ottoman and drag it over to where I've decided to sit.

Time to spend some quality moments with a favorite friend: Mr. Television.

Flicking it on, I settle for some romantic comedy—no thinking necessary tonight. I must be more tired than I thought because I find myself struggling to keep myself upright. The urge to just slide over and fall asleep is just too great and soon I'm slipping in and out of consciousness to the sounds of canned laugh tracks.

A few minutes or a few hours later, I can't really tell, I startle awake at knock at my door.

_Urgh…who can that be?_

I don't get unexpected visitors often; everyone knows to call my PHS first because I'm more than likely _not_ at home. And _generally_ they have to buzz up anyways, unless some dimwitted neighbor lets someone in, which they are absolutely not supposed to do.

I reluctantly disentangle myself from the coziness of my couch and make my way over to the door.

 _Better not be Mary…_ I grumble mentally. My busybody spinster of a neighbor from down the hall seems to invent new ways to butt her head into my business on a daily basis.

_Probably coming over to warn me about the dangers to my reputation associated with inviting gentlemen over…_

Carefully pulling my robe closed, I peek out the little peephole.

It's not Mary.

I open the door, hand on my hip, eyebrow raised. "Didn't expect to hear from you for a few wemmphf..!"

 _Oooookay….._ my mind fuzzily registers. _This is different._

Somehow I find myself completely caught up in the strong arms and lips of Vincent Valentine.

"I think I made a mistake," he says after slowly drawing my bottom lip into his mouth.

"Hmm…?" I wonder, dreamily. "Mistake?"

"Yes," he says softly, gently backing my body further into the apartment while closing the door behind us with his foot.

"Leaving…" he says against my lips. "…Last night. A definite mistake. One we should fix."

We stumble backwards towards the living room and get caught up somewhere on the back arch of the couch.

Vincent slowly shimmies me up and over the back, angling my body into his.

 _Oh yeah…_ I think, _I_ _definitely agree with fixing the mistake part._

I let out a strangled, garbled, squeak—I'm trying, _and failing_ , to keep my modesty here as my robe splits to reveal completely indecent levels of leg and skin.

His fingers trail along the edges of the robe, softly caressing the valley between my breasts and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

And they don't stop, those magic fingers just keep on trailing down, down, down before finally stopping at the flimsy knot of my robe.

I feel myself edging backwards, curling into his hands, waiting …wishing… even I'm not quite sure what for.

"Impatient?" he teases.

"Vincent," I reply breathily, embarrassingly so. "I'm very patient. I've wanted this for a very long time."

"I suppose I'll dispense with the chit chat then?" he says, almost as if asking permission.

"God, yes." I reply.

The rope parts. The robe drops. Vincent's eyes follow the path of the robe. His lips part in anticipation as he leans forward, opens his mouth…and rings.

 _Wait a minute,_ I think to myself. _That's not right._

And yet, I can't shake the noise from my head.

_Ring….Ring…RING….._

The answering machine jolts to life and I lurch forward, throwing myself completely out of what was apparently the beginning of an erotic dream.

"Tifa….TIFA. I know you're there. Pick up the damn phone!"Yuffie's voice screeches at me.

 _Son of a bitch,_ I think to myself.

I pick up the phone with a little more ferocity than I had intended and bark into the receiver, "WHAT?"

"Whoa…." Yuffie drawls. "Guess I woke Miss Cranky Pants from a nap?"'

"It's Ms. Cranky Pants to you; and you interrupted a damn good dream, Yuffie."

"Ohhh… Of who? Anyone I know?"

I blanch, not quite ready to tell the truth, but more than certain that Yuffie would notice a lie. I opt for sarcasm, "You wish. Anyways, where's the fire?"

"No fire, haven't forgotten you promised to take me with you on your vacation, have you?" she accuses.

"As if you'd let me forget, you've been PHSing me messages all week."

"But you never reply!" she says petulantly.

"I did reply. To the first _ten_ messages."

"Have you called Cid yet? The baby has colic again; cried the entire damn time I was on the phone with him."

"The 'baby' has a name Yuffie, it's Petra. And yes, I called him this morning. Said you'd already arranged everything. So I guess you'll be meeting me at the airport here?"

"Yeah, I'm over on the mainland anyways. Pops has me working on tourism espionage, thinks that if I seek out and steal the secrets of other successful tourist traps that we'll increase our revenues."

"So that's why you demanded to come with me to Costa del Sol?" I ask suspiciously.

"Hell, no. You know the finest looking boys from the world over go there. I deserve a break from this… observing."

"Got your meds from the doctor?" I ask; I am completely unwilling and unable to sit by a vomiting Yuffie for an entire flight.

"Yeah, yeah. Jeeze Tifa, I'm a big girl now, I hardly get airsick anymore."

"Precautionary measure." The last time we'd flown together she'd said the same thing. I've never seen someone go through so many air sickness bags before. I didn't even know the airlines kept a supply that large.

"Besides, we're flying with Cid this time!"

 _Exactly what I'm afraid of,_ I think to myself. "Well, I guess I'll see you next Wednesday then?"

"You betcha, Teef. As if you could get rid of me now. Still have your keys for the villa?" she asks.

"Actually, I have the only keys for the villa. Amazingly he's never asked for them back. His loss."

"On multiple accounts. Don't get me wrong, I love the guy, but I just wonder about the condition of his brain sometimes," Yuffie offers. She wasn't always on Team Tifa, that girl. I guess first crushes are hard to get over. But eventually she was able to straddle the fence a little, while still remaining a loyal and supportive friend to me.

"You and me both," I agree. "See you soon, Yuff."

"Laters."

I stretch back along the couch, moving into a more comfortable position.

 _Damn, so much potential with that dream…_ I think wistfully, snuggling into myself on the couch and not so secretly hoping for a repeat performance of my imagination.

Eyes dropping, body sluggish, I drift off and am almost in dream land before the phone interrupts me for a second time.

"Hello…" I drawl, expecting Yuffie again.

"Hello, Tifa…" a deep, rich voice purrs back at me.

"Vincent!" I breathe out, feeling sheepish, as if he'd caught me in the act of fantasizing about him, which, I guess, technically he _did._

I pinch myself this time, to make sure I'm _not_ dreaming.

"I didn't expect to hear from you so soon." It's the truth, though I love hearing from Vincent, I hadn't expected a call until a few days from now.

"…I had a… dream about you…" he says slowly, silkily.

And I nearly fall off the couch. "What?" I squeak. Maybe he really _is_ psychic.

"I had a dream about you; I thought maybe I should give you a call and we could discuss it."

I can hear the smile in his voice, probably imagining my face hanging open like a fish out of water.

I compose myself. Slowly.

"Oh, Vincent." I purr out. I'm equally seductive and not about to be beaten at this particular game. "It's funny you should mention it, Yuffie just woke me from a dream about you. _"_

This time I wait for his reaction. I hear him clear his throat; he takes a moment longer than normal to reply, "Oh?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm all ears Vincent. Let's 'discuss it,'" I say, grinning ear to ear, positively wolfish with anticipation for where _this_ conversation could lead.

* * *

 

 **_A/N- No offence to any bankers ;) I used to be one lol and generally, I've discovered, quite of a few (of course not all) coworkers enjoy drinking after work_ ** **— _and a banker told me the joke. Though generally they don't act so belligerent_ — _hopefully._**

**_Another big thanks goes out to the readers and reviewers! I appreciate your time and interest :D And I'm not going to lie, the reviews popping up in my inbox sure keep me on my ass lol- so thank you for the extra motivation too._ **

**_I hope you liked it, I enjoyed writing this chapter and hope to have something new up soon for OBA. Also hope to have something else posted soon, a little shorter, a little lighter, but something I'm really having a lot of fun writing!_ **

**_So, as always, I appreciate any constructive criticism or comments you may have! So please leave them and let me know what you think :D_ **

**2015 Edits: Dialog tags. Words etc.**

**_~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole . Do not use in whole or in part without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~_ **

 


	5. I wanna tell you

**_Big thanks to Fostersb for betaing and JessicaJ for the prodding/encouragement_ **

* * *

 

**_Come with me, my love_ **

**_To the sea, the sea of love._ **

**_I wanna tell you, how much- I love you._ **

**_Cat Power, Sea Of Love_ **

* * *

 

"I had a dream about you…"

Funny, didn't this all get started with a dream—Cloud's dream, my dream, Aerith's dream? I've long since stopped dismissing my dreams—they can be as real as reality, a true impression of what your heart is _really_ thinking

And Vincent and I, we've had this conversation before.

A long time ago, before we were friends—when we were barely allies.

We were both standing on the bridge of the Highwind, staring out at the horizon; I was dreaming of what was to come—of what I fearfully imagined was coming.

He had kind of usurped my thinking spot at that moment, so I was trying not to be indignant and continue on with my normal internal activities, but then he broke the silence.

"I had a dream about you…" he said to me. And I was damn shocked. At that point, I really thought that Vincent only spoke in monosyllables.

I turned towards him, leaning on the railing, and looked at him— _hard._

After the initial shock wore off, I was a bit offended. Who the hell did he think he was, having dreams about _me_ and then _telling me_ about them?

But I decided to keep my cool, answering with, "Okay…and?"

"Below the mansion, within the coffin—you were as I was before—before what I am now…" he said cryptically.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Ooookay… I don't know what you mean by that," I honestly replied.

"Lost," he said quietly.

I turned away from him. Oh, so I did know. He was warning me not to become a slave to the past, like he was.

I stayed quiet for a long time, just staring out at the sky as it passed.

I wasn't even sure he was still there by time I finally replied, "We made a promise."

_Cloud and I. Once upon a time..._

He shrugged very lightly. "Different people; a different time."

Maybe he was right and maybe I should have listened then. Probably would have saved me a lot of heartache in the long run, but I wasn't ready to hear it.

I nodded at him and he seemed to take it as an end to the conversation because he left after that.

Honestly, I just didn't know what to say.

I was lost and it would be years before I finally worked up the courage to find myself again.

But I think, that moment, it was the start.

And I am ever grateful to him, for that.

I shake my head softly, the phone rubbing against my earring distractingly. "Sorry, Vincent, can you repeat what you just said?"

"I had a dream about you," he starts again slowly.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not lost anymore, Vincent," I tease, but mostly there's just gratefulness in my voice.

His low laugh rumbles across the line and I can't help but smile; he's found himself, too.

"And what am I doing in this dream, Vincent? A little naked dance?" I tease, trying to draw a reaction out of him.

"That's only half of it," he teases back and I blush at his reply.

"Oh, really?" I ask, disbelieving.

"I had a dream that you were on a secluded beach, laying in the sand."

"Oh yeah…?" I hardly manage to squeak out. Wow, he's really going _there_. My mind isn't really prepared for this, as much as my hormones might think otherwise.

"You're sleeping, but suddenly you wake and brush your hair from your eyes. It's then that you realize…" he pauses, building my anticipation.

_What, that you're there standing in the shade, waiting for me to call you over so we can have a roll in the sand?_ My mind dreamily supplies.

"Yes…?" I prod. I can't stand it.

"You realize…that you're carbuncle red."

"Excuse me?" I choke out.

"You've forgotten your suntan lotion and will spend the better part of a week complaining about your painful burn and then your peeling skin." I can hear the laughter in his voice, he's trying to hide it because he knows he got me going.

"Oh, says the ghost who hid in the shadows every time we stopped over in Costa del Sol?" I reply, annoyed. I shift on the couch, wrapping the throw around me tight to keep the chill off.

"Black absorbs heat," he replies evenly.

"Could've taken off the shroud and joined us on the beach," I counter.

"No bathing suit."

"Boxers."

"Boxer briefs; inappropriate," he declares.

"Says you," I disagree.

"Cid did enough damage to the collective psyche of our mission," he drawls.

I shudder at the memory—itsy bitsy teenie weenie doesn't even begin to cover it, who knows how many children were scarred for life that day.

"Jealous?" I teased.

"No reason to be," he replied.

"I don't know…maybe a comparison test would have been helpful?" I suggested, half wistful, half horrified at the dual images my mind popped up.

"Keep dreaming," he returned.

"Oh, all over it," I laughed back.

Though intensely disturbing, the memory still makes me laugh.

The day had started innocently enough, Cloud had suggested we all take a break during our quick stop-over in Costa del Sol. Nothing major, just half a day relaxing.

God knows, chasing Sephiroth's ass back and forth all over the map was beginning to take its toll on our little, recently acquired an airship, group.

Apparently on Cid more than others.

Because we were obviously packing light, Yuffie, Aerith and I had quickly scoured the small strip in search of some cute and hopefully cheap swimwear, so we didn't have a chance to see the conversation the boys must have had.

Or probably avoided all together.

Gods know, we ladies didn't want to touch that issue with a stick, let alone draw any _more_ attention to It.

Yuffie sputtered, Aerith blushed, I gawked.

Us three, bikini clad (well, two of us anyways—I opted for a nice, black, one-piece), towels over our shoulders, exaggerated sunhats on—walked completely unaware into what would turn out to be one of the most uncomfortable situations of our lives.

Well, at least of mine.

So, Cid has always had a certain swagger to him. He's good with who he is and he's not afraid of letting anyone know it, just in case they should ever forget _their_ place.

Apparently he's got quite the piece to back that swagger up, if his bikini briefs have anything to say about it.

Aerith and I were going to be perfectly content with leaving the issue alone; Yuffie, on the other hand, never could keep her big mouth shut.

"Holy shit, Cid," she'd yelled across the sand. "Is that a banana in your hammock or are you just happy to see us?"

Aerith had pulled her hat entirely over her eyes and stumbled across the beach to where the rest of the boys had laid out a blanket and were currently sunning—avoiding the er… elephant on the beach.

I'd stood stunned. I mean, I'm used to Yuffie making a scene a _scene_ , but seriously, this was just unnecessary. "Yuffie!" I'd hissed. "Ixnay on the ammockhay!"

Cid had heard. Of course he'd focus on _me_ and not the instigator.

It had been my tragic downfall.

"What the shit, Tifa? Got a fucking problem with my Gods given fucking endowment?" he'd said, swiveling to face me, which also caused his "fucking endowment" to bob menacingly towards me.

_Oh gods, why'd he have to say it like that?_

"I don't have a problem with your 'endowments,' Cid," I'd said in a quiet voice, trying, and failing to keep my eyes anywhere but on his 'prize.'

"Really? Sure as shit seems like you do!"

Cid's really rather defensive; if he thinks you have a problem with him—and that you _shouldn't_ —he confronts the issue head on rather than tiptoe around it.

It might have something to do with his failed trip to space, at least, it's always been my guess.

I was going to have to go for embarrassed innocence if I was going to get myself out of this Yuffie inspired mess, well, that's what I was hoping anyway.

"I just, well…Cid… it is rather prominent…" I'd blushed and it'd been easy—I was embarrassed as hell.

He seemed to like that comment. "Hah! Most women _would_ think that, given the shit they have to compare me to."

He'd turned then, to stare towards the ocean, not so subtly picking the bathing suit out of his ass.

Just like that, his mood has changed. I thank the gods for Shera now, she really mellowed him out after he finally pulled his head out of his ass—though, at the time, he was still a grade-a prick to her.

I'd sighed in relief and made my way towards the shade of the palms to drop off my suntan lotion and extra clothes (warm suntan lotion being slathered on a body has got to be one of the most disgusting feelings in the world), that is, until I heard a soft choking sound coming from the darkness.

Looming there, as per usual, a part of our little group but apart from the group, was Vincent.

"Something funny, Vincent?" I'd bristled. All I'd wanted was a day in the sun, all I'd gotten was endowment related drama.

"Extremely," he'd said and I'd been surprised that he'd answered truthfully. Vincent seemed to avoid conversation. Apparently when the joke was at someone else's expense he was al gung-ho about it. Sure, all aboard the embarrass Tifa ship.

"Where's _your_ bathing suit?" I'd asked sourly.

"Not much for the sun anymore," he'd replied, curling out from around the back of the palm tree he'd been mostly behind. Probably one part hiding from the sun, one part hiding from us. I made my way towards him and laid down my towel at his feet.

"You missed the sun," he commented on my shady spot.

"Ditto," I said. "And anyways, you're supposed to stay out of the sun while you put your suntan lotion on."

I settled myself in the middle of my as bright as a rainbow towel and reached for my sun bag. Fishing around the bottom, I finally manage to grab my bottle of coconut scented lotion.

I pulled the bottle forward and popped the lid, a small splash landed on my arm, but I didn't mind. Squeezing softly, I let the air flow out from the top of the bottle as I took a deep breath.

"Ahh…" I sighed, letting the stress flow from my body as I enjoyed the sights, smells and sounds of the beach.

Looking up at Vincent, I patted my towel. "Take a seat, you're never going to relax crunched up against the tree like that."

"The sand gets into my gauntlet," he said stiffly.

My eyes boggled. "You kept your gauntlet on for a beach trip?" I couldn't believe it, even during off time he wouldn't shut off.

He shrugged at me. "You never know when you'll need to be prepared." He seemed to think that was a sufficient answer—ah yes, a Turk is _always_ on duty.

Luckily, I was never a Turk.

"Oh, Vincent, give me your damn gauntlet and handgun, I'll put them in my bag and keep them out of the sand. I fight with my hands so I really think I'm prepared for the dangers of the deep."

I wiggled my fingers up at him menacingly, trying to mimic what I thought a monster from the ocean might look like—all tentacally.

"And besides," I added, pointing to my anklet. "I have some master material on me, so I'm not _completely_ unprepared," I finished with a wink at him.

That seemed to disarm him a little. I guess if a Tifa in a bathing suit was capable of defending herself then a Vincent in full gear would be just fine.

I smoothed out my towel to make more space, but he surprised me by removing his cloak and laying it out on the sand.

I watched as he sat himself down and my mind stuttered a little as I realized that I had never really seen Vincent without his cloak on and that, much to my surprise, he's a lot better looking than I had first thought.

I mean, Vincent always had a certain allure about him—what with being tall, dark , mysterious, and all, but I hadn't really noticed with my being hung up on Cloud who was the opposite of anything Vincent was.

He really had such interesting features. Before I think I'd only ever noticed his eyes, which are intense and kind of frightening, but I'd never really gotten beyond them. But Vincent was beautiful, one of those faces you look at and can't help but smile over—lovely and inviting.

I hadn't noticed before and it'd be a long time till I'd get the opportunity to notice again, though I didn't know that at the time.

I'm kind of glad that I took the time to really meet Vincent, face to face, for the first time on that day.

But a beautiful Vincent, well, this really couldn't be ignored and I definitely was going to take the opportunity to tease the hell out of him for it.

"Vincent," I whispered softly and he leaned in towards me, face questioning. "I think I realized why you keep that cape on all the time," I feigned embarrassment and slowly fiddled my bottom lip between my teeth.

"Oh?" he questioned softly, looking almost ashamed at having taken off the cape. "If it bothers you, I can put it back on," he said while starting to shift to a standing position, but I caught his arm before he could move much.

I grinned at him. "Yuffie'd never leave you alone if she knew how handsome you are."

His face blanched, more than normal, and I knew that I'd hit the nail on the head. Laughing at his expense I couldn't help but fall into a giggling mess. Between the incident with Cid and the shock of Vincent without _his_ cape, I didn't know if I'd manage to make it through the rest of the day.

_We should have opted for the private, adult beach; this family section is killing me._ I thought to myself, and here I had thought that regular beach would be _more_ relaxing.

"Relax, Vincent, I promise to keep your dirty little secret… on one condition." I shot him a big, mischievous smile and without his cowl, he looked genuinely nervous.

"That being?" he questioned.

"Help me with this suntan lotion; after I get done with the front I'll need someone to get my shoulders so my back doesn't get all crispy and leathery." I squiggled my face at the thought.

Skin diseases at a young age didn't really appeal to me.

I think a million emotions flickered across Vincent's face at that moment: horror, desire, confusion and so many more that I didn't have the words for then and still don't now.

It was an innocent request, really. I wasn't particularly shy and didn't see the harm in him helping me out.

Thinking back on it, I should have remembered that Vincent grew up in a different generation than I did; I'm sure even the bathing suit I was wearing was probably scandalous to him.

All well, that's what I do: shock people out of their little safety zones and scoop them up into my own little world.

"I need to take off my gauntlet," he said quietly, almost fiddling with the straps around his forearm.

"Of course," I said, taking it as agreement. "I need a minute to do my front anyways." And with that we both started our little body projects.

Watching him out of the corner of my eye, it was rather interesting to see him work on his armor; detaching the leather straps, one by one, slowly loosening the holdings till the metal casing was able to slide down and off his hand.

He stretched his fingers out in front of his body and some part of my mind was amused that Yuffie _had_ been wrong, the gauntlet _wasn't_ attached to his body permanently.

After the gauntlet, he'd taken off the holster for his gun, sliding it around and unbuckling it before tossing it into my sun bag. His gloves had come off next; one by one he pulled the tips of his fingers to loosen their hold on his hands before pulling them off.

I smiled at his almost robotic method. I'd not been so precise, slathering the lotion in little blobs where ever I'd felt it was needed.

I'd made short work of the suntan lotion on my front, wiggling it through my toes and over the backs of my hands to finish.

"Did I miss any splotches?" I asked.

"One on the side of your face," he said while reaching forward with his newly naked hand. He'd almost unthinkingly brushed it against my face, blending it into my skin.

After he'd finished, he'd seemed to realize what he'd done, but I'd smiled and thanked him and he'd seemed to be put at ease by my comment.

I made to move my hair out of the way, but as per usual, it completely messed itself up and got royally in the way of everything.

"If only I hadn't given Aerith my spare hair tie…" I grumbled to myself.

I tried again to pull it into some sort of a top knot, or twist it into a bun—nothing. Strands just fell out in waves.

"Well," I started. "I'll hold it all to one side and you can do my shoulder and then I'll move it and you can do the other."

Vincent raised an eyebrow at me. "Why don't I help you with your hair?"

I raised my eyebrow back. "And how would you do that?"

Slowly he reached up into his own hair and I almost face faulted—he was going to let his hair down so _I_ could have his bandana for a hair tie?

"No, no! Really, Vincent, that isn't necessary! I'll make due."

"Don't be foolish, Tifa," he said blandly. "It's just a bandana. I have others like it."

Vincent pulled the bandana from around his head and his hair cascaded down in inky waves.

I couldn't stifle the giggle as he passed the red ribbon over.

He looked at me questioningly, lucky for Vincent it's never taken much to get me to talk, "Your hair's got bumps in it from the bandana; it's kind of sticking out."

He brushed it back with his fingers and gave me a bland look, as if to say: satisfied?

I just smiled and took the tie.

With Vincent's bandana, I was able to make short work of my messy hair pile. I handed Vincent the lotion bottle. "Not too much, I hate it when it's all goopy and sticky."

"I know how to put on suntan lotion, Tifa," he said while squirting the contents into his palm.

"Ahh," I gave him a sly look. "Lots of experience with girls on the beach, eh?" I teased. "Here I thought you were Mr. Gentleman, only offering to help me out of the kindness of your heart—I see the truth!" I gestured wildly, hand over my heart as if I were stricken. "I'm just like all the other beach bunnies!"

Instead of seeming embarrassed, which had been the reaction I was going for, he really seemed to consider what I'd said—rather seriously.

So seriously, in fact, I started to feel a little guilty sitting there as he stared at the lotion in his palm.

"Hey…Vincent?" I prodded quietly. "I was just teasing…"

I think, when he looked at me, he was almost smiling. But I might have imagined it.

I quirked my head at him. "What is it?"

"You're right," he admitted.

"Seriously?" I didn't really believe him, I mean, Vincent didn't give off a Casanova vibe, more of a 'look at me wrong and I'll shoot you in the face' vibe.

"There was a beach, almost like this, near where I grew up—lots of girls."

I laughed a little and he quirked an eyebrow. "Sorry, I'm just having a hard time imagining you in a bathing suit. You're just so _pale_ now."

"I tan in the sun," he shrugged.

"Probably bronze up like some golden god," I muttered unthinking— _Where did that come from?_

"I mean…uh… I'm sure you look nice in a bathing suit…I mean…I'm sure you're not always so covered so, I mean, it can't be that odd for you to be showing skin…erm…I'm going to stop now—Beach bunnies eh? Get lots of action on the beach?" I said, hoping to turn the conversation to something a little less embarrassing for me, a little more embarrassing for Vincent.

Really, I should just learn to keep my mouth shut.

His eyebrow quirked again. "Plenty," was all he said.

I blushed, badly. Really, I was expecting him to give one of his typical non-answers that I'd gotten so used to, not an all out admission.

"Oh…" I sputtered. "Well…bet that was fun?"

"Sometimes," his lip curled at the side, almost a smirk. "But mostly it ended up being more trouble than it was worth."

"Really?" I leaned in.

Now I was genuinely curious. I knew pretty much next to nothing about Vincent and, well, with a tendency to be nosey, I was obviously going to invite as much conversation as he was willing to give me.

"My uncle owned a beach shop—surf boards, boating accessories, that sort of thing. I used to work there in the summers."

"You surf?" I asked, not really able to picture Vincent flying across the waves on a surf board.

"Not really, I preferred scuba; I used to give lessons for the store."

"Oh? I've always wanted to learn. Do you still know how?" I leaned in closer, mysterious and scuba certified—my curiosity was getting sated big-time.

"I'm not cheap," he replied, fiddling with the suntan lotion in his palm.

_Oh, right. Suntan lotion._ "Here," I said, turning away from him again and scooting backwards. "How much, Vincent?"

"I generally charged one fifty for the basic reef diving, two fifty for anything requiring equipment; though sometimes I exchanged lessons for lessons."

He tentatively laid his hands on my shoulders, hardly touching them and probably doing a real half-assed job of spreading the lotion.

"Well, I'm not sure how much those sorts of lessons are supposed to cost. I never grew up near the ocean—only had lakes in the summer; which was nice, but not quite the same."

I shifted a bit and looked back at him. "You can press harder, Vincent. Honestly, I thought you were a professional at this sort of thing."

He huffed out and I could feel his breath along my neck. "It's been a while, Tifa."

I laughed a little. "Like riding a bike?"

"Not quite," he said softly, increasing the pressure, working his hands out and along the curves of my upper back. His fingers were surprisingly warm; I guess, considering the chilly exterior he kept up, I was assuming his touch would be the same.

"What did you mean by 'trading lessons'?" I asked, "Can you do under the straps? If they move then I'll get burnt."

I slipped the swimsuit straps down, careful not to flip the bathing suit forward over my chest as he replied while working the lotion over the missed spots. It seemed to distract him as he had to clear his voice before beginning."Ahem…well, they weren't really so much lessons as they were experiences," he said vaguely.

"Experiences?" I repeated, not quite getting the hint.

"Concerning girls," he replied, hardly giving an inch.

"With girls…? Oh… _Oh,_ well, uh…must have been quite the summers for you," I said, holding back a laugh, it was just so hard to picture."

"It was, until they discovered each other. I learned hard and fast the right and _wrong_ way to treat women," he answered. "Lotion's done."

Pulling my straps up, I turned as he scooted backwards and smiled at him. "Thanks, Vincent and thanks for the story, I'm sure you've had your fill of 'Tifa asking annoying questions and forcing me into conversation' today."

He shrugged at me. "Hnn, I'm rather out of practice. I think, during my time in the mansion, I forgot what it was like to talk to others."

"Not as bad as you thought?" I hoped out loud.

"Not quite," he said, but his eyes were soft and I knew he was smiling somewhere inside.

"Well, time for some sun," I'd decided, moving my hands upwards to take out his bandana.

"No, no," he said, reaching forward to stop my movement.

"What?" I asked.

"Keep it," he said, motioning towards the bandana turned hair tie.

"Really? You sure?" I said, lowering my hands.

"Positive," he said, leaning back into the tree.

"Okay," I said brightly. "Well, feel free to make use of my blanket—I'm gonna go hit the beach!" I rose slowly, stretching up and out.

"Thank you, Tifa," Vincent said softly.

"No problem!" I'd replied as I made my way over to the other girls who were splashing and laughing in the water.

I still have that bandana, among others that I've collected over the years, though I only bring it out on very special occasions—when I'm feeling particularly sentimental.

He didn't join us, but that was okay. I think, for one day, enough barriers had come down.

But next time, hopefully sometime soon, he owes me some scuba lessons.

Laughing softly at the memories, I suggest to him over the line, "Come on vacation with us."

He laughs on the other end. "Can't, but next time."

"You're just avoiding Yuffie," I mockingly accuse.

"Maybe," he almost agrees.

"Sure you don't want to see me in a bathing suit?" I tease.

"I'm sure," he chuckles softly.

"Really?" I drawl. "How's that, Vincent?"

"I'd rather see you out of it," he says with a soft purr.

Shivering at the thought, I reply, "I guess Yuffie would make that rather awkward."

"Indeed," he agrees.

"Next time, plan for just the two of us?" I suggest hopefully.

"Count on it," he promises.

"Next time we can trade _lessons_ ," I tease suggestively, and this time I'm greeted with the treat of a speechless, embarrassed Vincent.

* * *

 

**A/N- Oh, what a brat I am! Hope it was worth the wait—if not Boourns! Check out the first chapter of Stood Up— something old/new that I'm working on (while working on this- I swear) and let me know what you think- of both his and that ;) I've always wondered what it would look like if someone were able to take Vincent out of his shell; really thought they missed an opportunity to develop a rather interesting character. Do not talk to me about DoC :D So obviously, this is my take and don't worry, Vincent and Tifa _will_ get their alone time, despite the Yuffie threat, though how and where remains to be seen!**

**As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! I really appreciate all the hits and favs and alerts. Thank you thank you thank you! And for those of you who take the time to review—double thanks! Your kind words, constructive criticisms and prods (Thanks J. ;) are my favorite kind of icing!**

**_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole . Do not use in whole or in part without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~_ **


	6. Hot like fire

Disclaimer: It's not _technically_ adult, but there are _adult situations_ ahead. I like to think they're tastefully written, and they are within the boundaries of this site, but if you're not interested, maybe skip along to chapter seven.

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**_You're hotter than a summer's day in California._ **

**_You got me meltin' like a sundae, and I want you._ **

**_I know you've been waitin' you've been waitin' a long time for me._ **

**_If you'll wait a little while longer, this is how it'll be._ **

**_Oh, it's gonna be hot like fire. I'm gonna take you, take you higher._ **

**_You can't resist—kiss, kiss, and kiss, and kiss and kiss._ **

**_The XX- Hot Like Fire_ **

* * *

 

Music in my ear, wind in my hair and I'm running.

It's a mostly cloudy day, but the sun's peeking through the a bit. Down by the water, the air is always moist ** _—_** so it's easy to breath.

It flows into me and through me and I'm alive.

My hair flips in a long tail behind me, my feet slap against the concrete, and my smile is ear to ear.

Vincent called last night ** _—_** he'll be in town sometime this afternoon, which is unexpected, but welcome. Two weeks after our eventful evening, and I can't help feel like the giddy school girl I never was.

I'm almost at the end of the seawall and already looking forward to the long stretch at the end of a good run.

I'd spent the morning at the bar, finished up some of the paperwork that'd been piling up over the week, sorted out the stock order, and fixed up the deposits from the night before for tonight's evening drop.

I felt pretty damn accomplished and, as it was actually my day off, I'd decided to skip out on work and let Cookie and Kara handle things for the afternoon and rest of the night.

"See you two later," I'd said over my shoulder.

"Don't forget to stretch, Tifa," Kara said from behind the bar, counter rag thrown carelessly over her shoulder. "Would totally suck if you hurt something before your vacation."

I raised my eyebrow at her. She was no doubt referring to the time I'd gotten pissed off after a shit day, gone for a run without proper shoes, no stretch and gotten shin splints so bad I'd hardly been able to walk for the next couple days.

"Thank you, Kara," I said blandly. I'd learned my lesson.

The ocean isn't far from where the bar and my apartment are, so it's frequently my running haunt.

Just a few more feet and I'm finished and _there **—**_ I make it. I stop and check my time: forty-five minutes and thirty two seconds ** _—_** a new record. I'd shaved three minutes off my regular time.

I walk in circles to lower my heart rate trying, and failing, to not pant like a dog.

Eventually I'm able to catch my breath and begin my stretching. At this spot, there's a nice, sturdy railing along the perimeter of the wall ** _—_** probably to keep people from biking into the ocean but incidentally, it also makes for a great place to stretch against.

Calves, hamstrings, lower back ** _—_** I try and cover everything that get used or could possibly hurt later.

And so it happens, leg stretched out to the side, head against my knee, I notice a pair of sturdy looking boots just off to my right.

And I think to myself that, just once, I'd like for Vincent not to catch me in an awkward moment. Just once I'd like to not make an ass out of myself in front of him. Not be drunk. Not be covered in cherry stems or sticky liquor. Not look like I'd just spent the last twelve hours helping the typical 'salaryman' forget about his bland little life with alcohol, or trip on him walking off a dance floor.

Basically, just once I'd like to get the jump on _him._

Just once, but apparently today's not going to be the day to start.

It's not as awkward as it _could_ have been ** _—_** if he'd come a few minutes earlier, I'd have had my legs spread out and head inverted between them ** _—_** almost touching the ground. Welcome back, Vincent, would you like to stare at my sweaty butt for a bit? _Didn't think so_.

I right myself and smirk at him as I brush my slightly damp hair back and pull my ear buds out. "Bet you never dreamed I could _still_ do that."

He raises his eyebrow and the corner of his mouth moves up into a half smirk. "Dreamed ** _—_** of that and more," he replies quietly.

I'm pretty sure my entire body is flushed now. Well, shit. Fucking fail, Tifa. Wind from my sails! Trying to tease the guy for finding me in a bendy situation and, as per usual, I'm the speechless blushing one.

His hair is down today and he looks like some wild thing, eyes glowing fiercely. His lip's curled into a smirk, wearing his leathers and a black pullover ** _—_** almost like he's fresh from the field and still high on the adrenaline.

Vincent after the hunt is a little more animalistic, a little more instinctual.

I barely have time to consider that maybe Vincent catching me in a run _isn't_ the best idea in the world and maybe some time between _me_ and _hunting_ would have been a good idea, before he has me trapped between the railing and him.

Or, you know, a better idea would have been _not_ telling Kara where I was running today.

He seems to breathe me in, fingers in my hair, lips at my neck, hand on my hip. "You smell nice…" his voice rumbles low.

"Re-eally…?" My voice catches as his tongue flickers out over the pulse point in my neck. "I've been running, but my shampoo is orange scented?" I'm spinning, falling and I don't know if I'll be able to catch up before I make a fool of myself in public, but he looks-sounds-feels _so_ _good_ and I don't know if I want to stop myself.

His lips graze my ear as he replies, "I like oranges."

"Oh…" I say eloquently.

I grip the bar behind me hard as he presses me firmly into it with his hips.

I don't know if it's the predator he's been forced to become, or whether Vincent has always been a little wilder than the average man, but there's something innately appealing about the way he looks at me.

Like I'm the only girl in the world ** _—_** the only one he needs. His blood-red eyes seem to take all of me in at once: body and soul. Cloud never saw _just_ me. He saw our past, our present, Aerith, the world, Sephiroth, and all the little things wrapped up into a package that I'd somehow come to represent for him. I don't blame him, not really ** _—_** not anymore. But it doesn't mean that I don't recognize that I deserve better than to only ever be a shadow or some ghostly reminder of what once was and what will never be.

If I really think about it, Vincent's always looked at me like this; I think even when he didn't realize it himself. It's not possession or obsession, but desire, fondness, appreciation, humor and ** _—_** I hope, a little love.

It's overwhelming and he catches me looking into his eyes ** _—_** a little star struck.

Vincent cocks his head to the side and I smile and blink through the emotions.

The hand in my hair slides along my jaw, finally tilting it upwards. I prepare myself for contact, but he just smiles. "Have lunch with me?" he asks slowly, softly, seemingly more interested in my lips than my actual answer.

"Of course," I'm barely able to reply, distracted from the soft rub of his fingers on my hip.

"Hnn…" he purrs, leaning in and finally brushing a light kiss against my mouth.

I practically pout with disappointment, but I think he's testing my patience because I can see the smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

"Vincent," I growl.

"Tifa?" he says innocently.

"More," I demand, regaining control of my wits enough to drag a hand up along his hard stomach and over his chest as I dig my nails into his shirt and practically drag him closer.

"Whatever you wish," he promises in a deep rumble ** _—_** and finally, _finally_ , he kisses me properly.

It's been a little under two week, but it feels like ages the way my body reacts, the way my heart lurches.

And not for the first time, I regret not taking the jump sooner; how long have I been missing out on _this?_

_Too long¸_ I decide. Best not to waste any more time and I throw myself into the kiss wholeheartedly ** _—_** run my fingers through his hair, nibble at his lips.

I can tell he's holding himself back, even as I cling and grasp and do everything I can do to get closer; breaking away from the kiss, my mouth brushes against his ear, "I won't break, Vincent."

"Probably not, but we're about to be interrupted," he says, brushing his lips against my cheek and neck. He backs up slightly, but still holds me close ** _—_** _Right, enhanced hearing._

It's strange and wonderful the way he is with me. There was once a time when I wouldn't have put "romantic" and "Vincent" in the same sentence, but now he's opened himself up to me in a way that I never thought possible.

I smile up at him as, sure enough, a young family rounds the bend.

Probably better _not_ to give them an eyeful at eleven-thirty in the morning. I smile up at Vincent, "Where we going for lunch?"

"Your place," he says; it's not a suggestion.

I catch my lip between my teeth, and consider for a moment: _Oh…Well, I guess we're not really having lunch then._

I think, yes ** _—_** I'm ready, sort of...

I lead the way.

The conversation is light and the walk isn't long, but I can't help but feel kind of overwhelmed by anxiety.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamed about being with Vincent… _intimately,_ but fantasy and reality are two wildly different things.

And what if we didn't work together? I mean, that's kind of a breaking point in a relationship, isn't it? When you're not compatible sexually? How can you work around _that?_

I catch myself freaking out and I think Vincent picks up on some of the vibes I'm throwing out because he reaches over and tucks me into his body as we're walking along.

_Ok, I'm definitely over-thinking this._

And so, I let it go.

"When do you leave?" he asks, and I can feel the vibration of his voice along the edge of my ear.

"Tomorrow morning ** _—_** six," I reply, trying to keep focused on the moment and not on questions of tomorrow and the future.

"Mmm, and your return?" he asks while tracing soft patterns along my hip.

I have to take a breath before answering. "Next Friday." Not technically two weeks, but close enough for me.

We make it to the entrance of my apartment and neither one of us says anything. I fumble with my keys ** _—_** my hands are a little unsteady.

I try to place the emotion ** _—_** fear? Joy? Excitement? Probably a combination of a lot of things.

I look up at him sheepishly and he gives me one of his small smiles ** _—_** the ones I treasure so much because I know that he makes an effort for me to see them, and that not many others ever will.

In this moment I realize I've fallen in love with him ** _—_** broken and bruised and eternal and a million other things that have happened to him and happened because of him rolled into one bright moment where I can see clearly ** _—_** _I love you._

I don't say it, but I have tears in my eyes that he brushes away softly.

We've both had our hearts broken, our homes stolen, our happiness compromised so many times that it's hard to come right out and admit it, to give someone else that kind of power over you.

And it's not that I don't trust him ** _—_** I do, it's just…it's so much more than that now. And the moment should be perfect ** _—_** not me, slightly sweaty, standing in a doorway, hair akimbo, palms shaky.

But I'm over-thinking it again, so I let the moment pass as he leans in to kiss the corner of my mouth.

I smile back at him as I turn to the door and I’m finally able to crack it open.

We make it to the elevator and he almost makes it until the doors close before I'm in his arms.

Backed against the wall, propped and lifted by him, we forget to press the button.

For a _while._

One hand firmly on the back of my thigh ** _—_** my legs wrapped around his waist, his other hand pinning my wrist against the wall of the elevator ** _—_** I decide I need a little control of my own. Moving my free hand down, I rake my nails along the fabric of his chest and elicit a little growl from him.

I smirk as I pull my lips away from his mouth, trailing soft kisses down along his neck before I meet the exposed skin at the juncture between his neck and shoulder ** _—_** and slowly scrape my teeth along it.

I can feel his reaction ** _—_** the slight buckle of his knees, the way his hips grind into me, forcing me harder against the wall, the way his hand flexes against my wrist and higher on my thigh.

I dart my tongue out over his abused skin and feel his exhalation against my ear as he gasps ** _—_** apparently he liked it, all of it.

"Tifa…" he groans softly.

"Vincent?" I reply, sweetly, drawing it out into almost a sing-song reply.

He moves his mouth to the side of my head, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind my ear. "If you do that again, I won't be responsible for what happens here," he says, his voice a purr that rumbles along my body.

I laugh against his neck. "I'll save it for later then."

"Please," he begs, and I can't help but feel a little proud of myself for breaking Mr. Valentine's control.

It's a good thing he stopped us though, as one of my neighbors presses the call button that gets the elevator moving ** _—_** luckily to my floor.

Flushed and a little messy, we stumble out of the elevatoras I try _not_ to make eye contact with whoever called the elevator.

I look up at Vincent and find a tiny smirk on his face.

I give him a look.

"Embarrassed?" he asks.

"Cocky?" I reply.

And he lets out a lovely little purr of a laugh that makes me shiver.

"You have no idea," he says, arms coming around my waist as I fumble with the key to my door ** _—_** hands _will not_ cooperate!

As the door swings open and I disentangle myself, he reaches for me, but I stop him before can close in. "Shower time…" At his wide eyes, I realize my wording seems rather suggestive. "…Erm, for me ** _—_** shower time _for me."_

He nods and doesn't press the issue ** _—_** he seems to understand that I need a moment to myself.

"Make yourself at home," I say as I make my way towards the main bathroom.

After the world's fastest shave, I make short work of washing myself and my hair. I come out of the shower and stare at myself in the mirror.

I'm going to do this. This is _it._

Is it a big deal? Probably, maybe, yes. Then no. It's Vincent ** _—_** will it ruin everything we have? Is it worth the risk?

_He's not Cloud._ I have to remind myself. Sex is just a way of showing affection, nothing more, right? Then why do I feel so conflicted? I want him, he wants me.

But that's not it and I know it; I'm in love with him, maybe I have been for years. I just don't think my heart could take the disappointment if this turns out to be nothing more than an excuse to try things out and see how they go.

Trust ** _—_** I think that's it. I pull at my hair as steam turns to water and trails its way down the mirror in front of me.

Do I trust Vincent?

Then what do I have to lose?

_Only my heart._

I smile at myself. I'm pretty sure it's already lost; now all I have to do is wait and see if he gives his back.

I quickly comb through my hair with my fingers, purposely leaving it a little messy ** _—_** _messy's sexy, right?_

My mind flashes to a memory of Vincent wind-blown and a little ragged from the hunt and I have my answer: absofuckinglutely.

After some last-minute preparations, I open the bathroom door and slowly make my way out. "Vincent?"

"Tifa," he answers from the living room; he can't see me.

"Come here," I say almost shyly ** _—_** come on, girl! Time for some courage!

I can hear him rustle up from the couch and make his way over to me. I look into his eyes as he sees me and my heart stops.

I'm the little lamb and baby, he's the big, bad wolf.

His eyes are bright, a deep blood red and seem to devour every detail of my body.

Vincent seems to try and get a hold on himself, shaking his head a little. "What do you need, Tifa?" he asks softly, his voice so deep it rumbles through and around me.

"You," I say simply.

And that's all the invitation he needs.

In a blur of movement that my eyes aren't able to follow, Vincent is in front of me and above me and all around me.

The fabric of his clothes tease the bare areas of my skin and I suddenly wish I'd take him up on the offer to have a shower together.

I press myself against him, molding my body to his. Running my hands up and over his chest, I rest them behind his neck and stand on the tips of my toes and pull him closer into my lips, deeper into my kiss.

His hands at my back are almost hesitant against the towel, so I reach down and pull at where I've tucked it together.

It falls.

So does his gaze.

If I thought his eyes were vivid before, they were molten now.

His calloused hands trace the trail his eyes had mapped out on my body and soon I'm practically delirious from his touch.

He slowly turns me to face away from him and I pout back up at him.

"Trust me," he rumbles in my ear.

"I do," I whisper softly, reaching my hand back to clasp around his neck.

Slowly, his hands flow over my breasts, ribs, but he doesn't stop.

He slides his hands down further, one stopping to circle my stomach, pulling me back firmly against his body.

I hiss at the contact ** _—_** _every_ part of his hard body is pressing into me and I almost can't stand the barrier of his clothing.

I slowly wiggle back into him, hoping to hurry his actions, to frustrate him, to _anything_ if it finally gets his damn clothes off.

Vincent nips at my earlobe. "Patience…" he says, but his tone makes it into a sinful promise: _all good things to those who wait…_

He drags the moment out ** _—_** teasing me, making me breathless with want and need and all the feral, earthy things that I have to suppress with anyone else.

And then the moment becomes too much, even for his iron-clad control.

And faster than I can process, we spiral together.

Our inhibitions fly away as we make our way to my bedroom.

His clothes are thrown and dropped haphazardly.

We fall in a heap on my bed and soon his _lipstongueteethhands_ are showing me everything I've dreamed about him, and some things that I _never_ dreamed about, but _definitely_ appreciate.

And then, _finally_ , it's _that_ moment. We both pause and kind of take a second to look at each other, both puzzling out how to proceed next.

Though I don't know if Vincent is able to have children, considering the way his body has been _modified,_ he doesn't make an issue out of protection ** _—_** apparently he's been planning this afternoon seduction because he's brought his own ** _—_** he gets up and retrieves his pants off of the floor and fishes the little foil out of his pocket.

I'm glad, for once, to not have to be the responsible adult as he's taken care of it on his own.

I have to hold back a laugh as he fumbles with the packaging a little, but he makes short work of it and soon, maybe _too_ soon, we're back in the heat of the moment.

This is what I wanted, wasn't it? Gods, it's such a fucking huge bridge to cross ** _—_** no going back, right? I mean, as much as they like to say that sex doesn't _have_ to change anything, it does.

I must have a serious expression on my face, probably pretty mood killing, but Vincent just smiles at me as he holds out his arms a little for me.

And there it is ** _—_** why this will work: it means as much to him as it does to me.

I mean, ever girl likes to _believe_ that they've found that one, perfect person who cares about them more than a good fuck, but I actually have.

And he found me.

And we waited for this moment ** _—_** probably longer than both of us will ever admit.

And we will have many, many more moments to share together ** _—_** _more of this_.

And when we do finally take the plunge, it's everything and nothing. Intimate and special, and sometimes a little awkward, but we get passed it ** _—_** oh, how we _ever_ get passed it.

Later, as we lay together, trying to calm our heartbeats, I look up at him to find possibly the most smug look I have _ever_ seen on his face.

"What," I say as I raise myself up a little, eyebrow raised in classic mock-Vincent form.

"Different than I expected," he says.

"Oh, really? Different how?" Of course I know he's baiting me, but I just can't leave it alone.

"It doesn't matter," he drawls softly, while pulling me back into his arms.

"No, seriously ** _—_** what?" Now I'm kind of concerned. I am pretty sure that I put deodorant on and he's seen my scar, so it can't be _that_ horrifying. Oh, gods, fucking _girl_ moment ** _—_** of _course_ , it _has_ to be all about me.

He smiles at me, and I know he's caught me in my tizzy ** _—_** insecure, bullshit moment.

"Never mind," I say, catching myself, burrowing my nose in to his chest a little.

After a moment, he takes a breath and says, "You're just more flexible than I'd imagined, that's all."

I poke my head up again. "That's bad?"

"No," a small smile spreading across his face. " _Absolutely_ not."

I laugh a little. "I am a karate master, you know."

"Somehow my mind never registered the more practical applications of your _art,_ especially not in relation to myself," he admits, and his voice lowers an octave ** _—_** apparently he's happy with what he's currently imagining.

I nip at his collarbone. "I've been practicing harder lately; glad it worked out in your favor."

I quickly find myself held against his chest as he rolls us both, positioning himself over me.

"Ready for another, so soon?" I tease breathlessly as his lips ** _—_** starting at my neck ** _—_** make their way lower… and lower still.

"Definitely," he says as his lips do deliciously distracting things to my body. "I've been practicing harder lately, as well."

"Oh…" I'm barely able to squeak out. "How so?"

"Wait and see…" he says, and I'm practically giddy with anticipation.

* * *

 

Later, much later, _much, much, muchmuchmuch_ later, I find myself awake and a little restless as Vincent sleeps.

He's so warm, in his arms I have to have the blankets half off of me otherwise it's too hot, but I'm not complaining. God ** _—_** he's so much ** _—_** _too much._

And I'm reveling in the perfection of the moment and listening to the steady sounds of his breath as his chest slowly inhales and exhales when I hear it ** _—_** oh, gods! _Vincent snores!_

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing ** _—_** he _snores!_ Oh, stoic, strong, impossible Vincent Valentine snores like a grandpa!

And it's wonderful ** _—_** I mean, the noise is terrible, but the realization that he's _not_ some unattainable thing ** _—_** that he's more human, probably than even he knows, is a welcome thought, even if it means I'll have to sleep with earplugs.

At least I'll have something to compete with _my own_ snoring! Hah!

It's funny, I never noticed when we were traveling together, saving the world. Somehow, we always ended up on attached ends of lookout shifts ** _—_** him starting, me finishing.

Though, in hindsight, no one really compares to the noises that came out of Barret and Cid ** _—_** they were like competing freight trains.

More often than not, when we all shared close quarters out on the field, I found myself up during the middle of the night, staring up at the stars ** _—_** though I was never alone often.

Between Vincent and Yuffie, I always seemed to have company.

One night found the three of us together ** _—_** which always seemed to put Vincent on edge. I think, during his time in the mansion, he kind of forgot what kids, specifically _teenagers,_ can be like, and Yuffie has absolutely no censor.

I actually interrupted _them_ when I woke up and shuffled my sleeping bag out of the tent and closer to the warmth of the fire.

"So," Yuffie continued as I sleepily made myself comfortable. "Do you, like, eat _real_ people food?" The question seemed to suggest that Vincent somehow wasn't a _real_ person, but he didn't seem offended by it, even if his answer was short, "Yes, Yuffie."

I didn't interrupt. I won't lie, I was incredibly curious about the mysterious Mr. Vincent Valentine, and if I didn't have to ask the awkward questions for once, the better!

"So, not just blood and gore and shit, then?" she said, seeming to be disappointed with his answer.

Vincent raised an eyebrow at the comment, but didn't clarify any further.

"Is it hard? Having all that _stuff_ inside you, I mean," she asked, in one of her rare moments of maturity. Yuffie thinking of anything beyond the realm of her own personal experience was a definite surprise ** _—_** especially considering it showed she _did_ have some sympathy for the struggles of the people around her, and wasn't _just_ out to get our materia.

What I think surprised me even _more_ was the fact that he _answered,_ "Yes."

It was a little word, tiny really, but it was more insightful than anything I'd been able to get out of him up until that point.

"Oh," was her short little answer back.

And that had pretty much ended our campfire ** _—_** nose into Vincent's life moment.

I'd ask him again, much later, about the creatures that share his body. It wasn't an easy conversation, but I felt that if I was going to get any closer to him, as a friend, I should be able to understand him.

And I think I do understand him, maybe not completely, but far more than I ever understood Cloud.

He stirs in his sleep, arms pulling me closer, and it fills my heart with such an amazing, warm feeling.

In this moment, I feel like I finally understand what it is to be with someone who you love on equal, balanced terms. And I know it won't always be perfect moments, but I do know that the wonderful will outweigh the not so wonderful.

And it's a pretty awe-inspiring moment for me.

I burrow my nose into his shoulder a little and I catch his scent ** _—_** warm, heady, masculine, _addictive._

And tomorrow I'll remind myself not to get _too_ crazy, raise my expectations _too_ high, fall a little _too_ hard.

But right now, I'm happy with basking in this momentary perfection.

I fall into a deep sleep with a smile on my face.

* * *

 

**A/n~SO- WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE SEXY(IER) BITS?! Well, they can't be posted here (though, apparently people just don't follow the rules all over the place anymore, but I'd rather not have my account kicked- I've been here sooooo long- oh god, oh god- ten years long? LONGER- I was a lurker!), and honestly: I'm not completely finished with them. It's hard- I mean, I'm a fan of _reading_ the sexy bits, but _writing_ them is a whole 'nother ballgame.**

**Let me know if you're interested and I'll see what I can do. They're half written, but it's challenging for me, so I haven't stressed myself out over it much- yet. Or maybe it's more than enough for you, and that's cool too. Either way, hope you enjoyed and review and enjoy the next chapter- it was definitely easier for me to write lol. Also, I've checked for mistakes, but if I missed anything- sorry :) I did my best, but I've been sitting on this for waaay too long. THANK YOU AGAIN! XOXOXOX CNichole**

**2015 Edits—AHHH SMEXY. I’m more a fan of subtle than in your face, sometimes. But depends on who’s writing. Sylvia Day? Oh, yeah, girl! Go get ‘em! Anywho. Tidied up and did a little editing for clarity.**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole. Do not use in part or whole without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 


	7. Look out weekend

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! It means so much to me. No warnings for this one, just have fun!**

* * *

 

**_Look out weekend, 'cause here I come_ **

**_Because weekends were made for fun._ **

**_Look out weekend, 'cause here I come,_ **

**_Because weekends were made for fun._ **

**_Debbie Deb, Look Out Weekend_ **

* * *

 

Despite getting _no_ sleep and having to part with Vincent at four in the morning, I have never been so thankful for one of Vincent's unexpected visits—oh, ever.

"Have a good trip," he said to me, voice a little gravelly from lack of sleep.

"Mmm," I replied, moving in to wrap my arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth once more. "See you when I get back—you can throw the key under the door when you leave; I have an extra."

He nodded as his fingers slowly slid up along my neck and into my hair; tilting my head back he gave me a long, soul-shattering, gods-I-almost-wish-I-wasn't-leaving, kiss.

It took me a minute to recover. "Ohhhkay…good luck with your job—be safe."

"Always," he replied softly, and with one final hug I reluctantly backed away and moved out the door—to wait for Yuffie to pick me up.

At first, it's fine and she's too tired to notice anything is up and so I daydream, staring out the window so she can't see my wistful facial expressions or my blush.

And when I close my eyes, I can almost feel his fingertips tracing out patterns over my skin.

His lips against mine.

His breath—harsh, panting, against the skin of my neck.

The deep rumble of his laughter as we tease and thrill and complete each other.

_Gods…_ I mean, I expected it to be good, great even, but what thought wasn't even the tip of the iceberg.

Vincent and sex was like chocolate and marshmallows and jellybeans and all the things that I never let myself enjoy, but secretly lust after.

The car ride to the airport is pretty uneventful and it's a quick run there, but Yuffie finally notices that something is up. "Hey Teef," she says as we pull up to departures. "You look different today. What's the change?"

"Seriously?" I reply. "How am I any different from any other day." I'm playing this one coy, though I'm a horrible liar—Yuffie is just a _relentless_ teaser, so maybe… this one time… she won't pry. "Just because you _always_ see me looking like shit, doesn't mean I always look like that."

"Yah, yah. I know—jeeze. I don't know…you're all, like, glowy and shit. Just like a major positive vibe coming off of you in waves…wait a minute. Was Vincent in town?"

"Uhhhh…no!" I say while avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, really, Miss Shady—you got fucking laid, didn't you! God damnit, Teef! How could you?!"

"What?" I croak, incredulous. "What exactly does it have to do with you?!"

"HAH! Gotcha! Fucking bitch; was he good? Gaaaawwwwd! I bet he was amazing! Does he bite? Ohh! Fangs? Whips? Chains! Tell me everything!" she demands.

I'm blushing bad. "Sheesh, Yuffie. I think you have me confused with—I don't know, Scarlett?" I say. The boys _always_ speculated (when they thought we were out of earshot) that the ex-Shinra employee was into…oh, pretty much anything.

And my left cheek can attest to the fact that she's at least into spanking.

"Oh. Well, vanilla. Okay, I guess that's fine…I mean, you are pretty old," she says, popping her gum.

"Yuffie! That's not going to work twice in five minutes—I'm not old and I'm also not being tricked into telling you the intimate details of my sex life."

"And why the hell not?"

"It's fucking private!"

"But we're fucking besties! And besides, I had a crush on him first!"

"You were _sixteen!"_

"And what! Teenagers are all into that vampire shit nowadays! It's _cool,_ Tifa. Or do you forget what it's like to be cool?"

"I'm cool enough to know that vamps are passe, but that doesn't mean I'm telling you anything!"

"Spoilsport."

"Brat."

She grins. "I'll just ask Vinny the next time I see him—he's always so much fun to fuck with!"

"You will do _nothing_ of the sort!"

"Ah-ah-ah! Just watch me!"

Luckily, the line for check-in is small, so she doesn't have much time to tease me as we wait, and before we know it, we're on tarmac and up into our semi-private airship.

And then the airsickness starts.

And I have a sick Yuffie to take care of.

Which makes it increasingly difficult to focus on the pleasant memories—Yuffie heaving beside me and all.

I'm trying my best to be sympathetic, but my stomach as always been a little weak where things like vomit are concerned.

Blood? Fine. Gore? No problem. Violent bloody, gory monster deaths? Piece of cake! But even make the motions for being sick and my stomach turns.

But I'm a damn good friend, so I grab an extra airsickness bag, buckle in tight, and prepare for the long ride.

And holy shit, is it _ever_ a long, bumpy ride.

Cid—who had business issues pop up—canceled. So we got Mitch.

Cid is an excellent pilot, but Cid isn't flying, it's one of his employees, and Mitch is _no_ Cid.

And the airship,the Highwind, is certainly not the Shera.

_Gods…_ I'd forgotten how bumpy this old girl can get.

"Fuuuuuck, Tifa… How much longer?" Yuffie groans between heaving motions.

"Two hours," I reply, fighting the sickness.

"Fuck this noise; I'm going to pop some airsickness meds and pass the fuck out," Yuffie says while trying, and failing, to dig through her purse.

"Here," I say, taking it from her, secretly thrilled that she's finally decided to take my advice and just sleep through the flight. Every once and a while Yuffie gets this stubborn idea that her airsickness _isn't that bad,_ and that _this time_ it'll somehow be different.

It never is.

So we inevitably get to this point—we're both sick, she's heaving, and finally, _blessedly,_ she takes the meds.

Ten minutes later she's sleeping, I'm feeling better and the flight progresses merrily and bumpily along its path to Costa del Sol.

As we disembark, a drowsy, sick Yuffie on my arm, I still can't help but be amazed by the beauty of _la Costa_. The landing strip is right on the water, so the vivid colors reflect, making the world gorgeous and sparkly. I slide my sunglasses into place and let the heat seep into my bones. I live by the water too, but it sure doesn't get warm like it does here.

"You ladies gon' make it, alright?" says Marcus from somewhere behind us.

I turn my head a little, he's gangly and kind of shy, in the way Cid's pilots always seem to be when he first hires them on. I've teased him before about having "pet projects," but I really do think he enjoys bullying and teasing people out of their shells—he won't be like this for long, soon enough he'll be just as pushy and obnoxious (and hopefully lovable) as his boss.

I smile at him and he blushes to the tips of his hair, _oh boy_. "Yes, thanks Marcus—keep up the great flying!" I try to encourage him; hopefully he improves with time.

"You sure now? I'd be mighty happy to help ya'll with your things…especially given the little lady's sickness, an' all."

I can hear Yuffie grumbling under her breath over being called a "little lady," so I gesture in his general direction while yanking her further away. "No, really, thank you! I'll make sure to tell Cid what an excellent job you've done and how kind you've been to us—really, thanks again!"

We make it to the boardwalk and I pay one of the shuttle services to grab and deliver our bags while we make our way to the villa. It's quiet, not many people at the little shops that line the coast, but I'm okay with that. It's not a busy time of year, mostly it's the season when the locals themselves go on vacation. I mean, I'm a tourist, but I'd rather be a tourist with a bunch of locals, than a tourist with a bunch of tourists— somehow it all feels a little more authentic when you get to enjoy it with other people who live there.

We make it to the villa and everything looks good—the caretaker is doing a great job of keeping it looking well-cared for. I search around in my purse for the key—yep, still works. It smells kind of musty as we walk in; apparently it's been a while since anyone's been here. Cloud rarely ever stayed here while we were together and apparently that hadn't changed after we split.

Yuffie makes a beeline for the bathroom as soon as we got in; though the medication helps on the flight, she'll still be sick for a while afterward.

She'd likely be there for the rest of the afternoon.

"You want anything, honey?" I ask through the bathroom door.

Yuffie gurgles from within, "Water…urp…."

I rush to get Yuffie what she needs, returning and quickly depositing the large glass near her on the counter.

"See you in a few?" I ask. It's a ritual for us now, Yuffie spends the first few hours of our trip hunched over a toilet and I go for a walk to keep the noises and smells from making me sick— _again_. I used to spend the time with her when we first starting coming, but it ended up in a huge fucking mess—her over the toilet and me, sympathetically hurling beside her in the bathtub.

_Urk…_ My stomach lurches.

I make my way to the beach. The villa's attached to the main part of the city, very near the shops, but the beach is only a five minute walk.

I kick my shoes off as I make it to the sand and wiggle my toes in deep. _I will never get tired of this place,_ I smile to myself as I let the sun soak into my skin.

I make my way over, shoeless, to the big palms that line the beach. I'm not really dressed for tanning, so staying in the shade is probably the best idea unless I want a wicked farmer's tan.

Which I don't. Gods know, I got enough of _those_ out on the field hunting Sephiroth.

And so I rest for a bit and watch as some pretty ominous looking clouds start to roll in.

It was _so_ nice when I started out, sun shining, birds singing, old men in—I'd almost prefer you wear nothing because the way that bathing suit is cutting into you, it _looks_ like nothing—clothing.

And then the rain.

As beautiful as Costa del Sol is, the weather is ridiculously changeable—ocean weather, go figure. And so I find myself trapped under my huge palm tree, trying to keep the giant raindrops from splashing up onto my legs.

It's not as much fun getting caught in the rain by yourself, as it is getting caught in the rain with Vincent Valentine.

A giant drop of water lands on my chest and drips itself along my collarbone, near the scar that Sephiroth left the day he destroyed my village, killed my father and tried to kill me.

It's a memory now, distant and hardly hurts that place inside where I'm still a little girl and failing at saving my town.

We all have scars, some more or less than others, some that are visible and some that are hidden in a place so deep that even we don't realize they're there.

Standing in the rain, heat still radiating from the sand makes a humid mess out of my hair, I remember the day Vincent let me see his scars.

He'd popped by for a visit, randomly—as was and mostly is his prerogative. It wasn't actually that long after Cloud and I split, so I was still a rather emotional pile of angst and bitterness.

We'd decided to go for a walk, actually, Vincent had decided. I'd grumped and moped about it and he practically had to drag me out of my newly acquired apartment.

It'd started out as a nice day, but as it went on, clouds had rolled in off the water and made a mess of the boardwalk we'd found ourselves on.

I'd run into the alcove of a shop and angrily kicked my flip-flops off and into the wall. "Fucking _rain!"_ I yelled. "Ruins everything."

And I'd been right: ruined my shoes, sagged my clothes and frizzed my hair.

Grumpily, I leaned against the building and tried to hide myself from the rain; though Vincent seemed content to just stand and watch me from the rain.

All of a sudden, his gaze sharpened and his cheeks seemed to flush a little—and if I didn't know better, I would have sworn I saw his eyes crinkle and his lips curve upwards. But there's no way, Vincent didn't smile often and he _certainly_ was used enough to my outbursts not to find them funny.

"What!?" I snapped, unamused by the amusement I certainly did _not_ see in his eyes.

Vincent didn't say anything, just took his mostly waterproof and absolutely blissfully warm jacket off and covered me with it.

"Oh," I said, a little stumped.

"You seemed…cold," he enlightened me.

"Well, thanks. Can we go back home now?" I said with a pout.

He nodded, apparently agreeing that our outdoor excursion had been _more_ than sufficient.

Back at my apartment, we were soaked and dripping, so I took my bedroom shower and he took the main bath.

It wasn't until I'd taken his coat off that it _all finally made sense._

My shirt was fucking invisible— _it was completely and utterly see-through._

I'd just shown Vincent the goods and not even meant to, though thankfully my bra had kept it from being a completely scandalous affair. No wonder he'd been smirking, the damn pervert!

Sort of.

Okay, so maybe he was a completely gentleman, but I'm entitled to channel my embarrassment into a little anger. I was having a fine day till he came along and _forced_ me to go out and face the fucking world.

Thanks a lot, Vincent! I bet it was all a part of his evil plan to get my wet and cold and nipply.

Those shy ones...you never suspect them, but really they're just waiting for an opportunity to pounce and force you into a wet t-shirt.

I debated calling him out for not telling me my shirt was completely indecent, but thought better of it. If he'd been gentleman enough to put a coat on me, I'd be lady enough not to make him feel embarrassed about the whole situation.

My bathroom was apparently lacking in the towel department, so I made my way back to the main hall—chest covered.

I'd rather unceremoniously dumped him into the main bathroom with instructions to kick his wet things out the door and directions to the new, fluffy—bought them because they made me feel better—bath towels. Luckily, Vincent had brought his travel bag with him, so he had a change of clothes.

Vincent graciously did as he was told, toeing his sopping pile of wet out into the hallway. I gathered them up and made for the laundry room, but then stopped and yelled through the door: "Any special washing instructions?"

"Check for my wallet?" he called back.

_Hmph, typical._ I snorted to myself, Cloud was forever leaving shit inside his pants—his wallet, keys, pens which had a nasty tendency to explode inside the dryer—you name it, I’ve scraped it out of the dryer barrel.

Apparently some traits were sex specific.

On the way to the machines, I checked the tags anyways—regular wash and dry routine, so I threw them in with the darks I had collecting at the bottom of the washer and set the thing for a spin.

Looking at the great, dripping mess I was making behind myself, I made a split second decision to add my wet clothes to the wash and tiptoe my way with a towel over to my own bathroom.

I grabbed a towel from the pile of clothing on top of the dryer—a pile that was probably going to fall over soon and cause me to have to re-fold the entire thing.

Luckily that moment was not now, so I glared the towels into submission as I stripped my wet, cold clothes off of myself and threw them into the filling wash.

Apparently all of the new, huge, not shrunken towels had made their own way into my main bathroom—what a brilliant place for them—so I had to make due with a ratty, small one that a pretty piss-poor job of covering my assets.

Wrapping the towel around my middle as best I could, I made for the back of my apartment.

Which was fine, except for apparently at the same time, Vincent thought it would be a good idea to come out of the bathroom, wrapped in his own towel, and ask for his overnight bag.

And that's where my brain failed me.

Luckily, at exactly the same moment, Vincent's brain seemed to abandon him as we both stood there, staring at each other, seemingly terrified to move at the off chance we might startle ourselves.

Vincent did a pretty good job at disguising his body under the clothes he wore; for years, I thought he was made of mostly billowing fabric, but apparently I had been wrong in that assumption.

Go fucking figure.

Still damp from the rain he stood there, hair wet and curling at the ends around his apparently broad shoulders, dripping little trails down his pecs— _Pecs! Vincent has pecs!_ —through his abs, to disappear in the towel that was slung dangerously low on his hips.

He somehow managed to be simultaneously slim and muscley—kind of like a dancer. Which kind of made sense, somewhere inside my fuzzy brain; he was miraculously graceful on the battlefield.

_Oh, his hair gets curly when it's wet…_ my mind slowly registered. And that was about it for what was probably a ridiculously long period of awkward time for Vincent.

He might have noticed had his eyes not been skimming the skimpy edges at the top and bottom of my towel.

I kept looking, because really, who—when presented with the opportunity to gorge themselves on some eye-candy—wouldn't?

Over the planes and hollows of his physique, my mind began to notice the texture of his skin and the almost startling frequency of scar tissue. Apparently, Vincent had been in his fair share of battles…or other experiences.

Small slices had apparently been made over his right chest and down along the right of his stomach and hip, but on the left of his chest, almost right over his heart, was what appeared to be a gunshot wound.

I guess, most people would be ashamed of their scars. I fought hard not to be ashamed of mine, and the way they make me different, but Vincent hardly seemed to notice my noticing.

That was, until, I decided to open my big mouth.

My mind tried to rally, really it did, but as it focused all I could think of to say was, "You have scars, too…"

Typical Vincent, he raised an eyebrow at me.

I tried to remove the foot from my mouth. "I mean, not that it bothers me—you look just fine and dandy with them…I mean, chicks dig battle scars on muscley men, right?"

I was trying to be complementary. He wasn't going to let the opportunity to tease me slip by.

"You think I'm 'muscly,' Tifa?"

I think I blushed from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. "Yes..I mean, no, I mean…Well, _look_ at you!" I said, flustered and gesturing wildly.

Too wildly apparently because my towel chose that moment to loosen itself from my hasty tie job and dip scandalously around my chest before I was able to messily catch it.

I stared at him pointedly while trying to maintain a measure of dignity—and failed.

He stared back, dazed—at least, his mouth was slightly open and his eyes were kind of glazed.

I did my best Vincent and raised an eyebrow at him. "You can turn around, Vincent."

It was his turn to blush.

Readjusting my towel, I walked over to the couch where he'd left his night bag and carefully lifted it onto my shoulder.

It was heavy and I grumbled, "Gods, Vincent. What do you have in here?"

I slumped it at his feet as he answered, feet shuffling the bag into the bathroom, "Death Penalty and extra clothes."

"You need a rifle for a visit?" I said to his back, trying hard not to notice the little rivers of water slowly making their mark over the side his neck, through the planes of his shoulders, over the curve of his hip…

"Never know," he said casually, making his way back into the little, now-steamy room.

And I made my way back to my bathroom to compose and shower myself.

I turn the water on—scalding hot.

_That should help,_ I think.

That was…new. I wasn't used to thinking of Vincent as a man, really. He was _just_ Vincent, but apparently underneath that subtle, attractive personality was one hot body.

I mean, I knew he was handsome, but that's easy to forget when it's mostly covered by wrappings and cowl. Vincent all bared to the world was apparently a fucking sight to see.

And I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that.

I loved Vincent— _as a friend._ And I was pretty sure I didn't want to turn into anything other than that. Though I think that even then I knew that I wasn't being completely honest with myself. I'd been covertly interested in Vincent and his life for years, but our close proximity to the others on the Highwind and then Cloud, kept it from developing into anything other than a curious friendship.

Though there had been times when it had kind of skirt the edges, but not completely. Vincent had always been the gentleman.

But _why_ was I interested? Friendly concern, or something more?

I stared into the cloudy mirror, fogged from my painfully hot and blissfully distracting shower.

Vincent… _Vincent…Fuck me_. _Vincent, really?_

My mind was a complete mess—utterly and completely confused.

Taking some calming breaths and focusing, I decided I was overreacting; Vincent probably didn't even think of me as anything other than a friend, so why bother worrying about something that wasn't going to bother him!?

I channeled my emotions. _How like a man,_ I thought, _not to worry about these things. Humph!_ I silently fumed over his perceived emotions.

That was that, I decided. I wasn't going to make a move, Vincent wasn't likely going to either, so fuck the bullshit and we'd just go on as we'd always gone on.

Which was, of course, a convenient lie, but it made me feel better at that moment. And so, I was able to go out and pretend like I hadn't just had a mental breakdown over the hotness of Vincent or considered at all what our relationship would be like—amazing, likely, but I _definitely_ wasn't thinking about that—and go out and wait for him on the couch.

We stayed up late that night, later than I think either of us intended. It didn't feel unusual, even though I hadn't seen him in months. Looking back on it, I think it was him slowly trying to gauge my feelings

It wasn't any really planet-shattering discussions or anything, just light chatting and soft laughter and before you know it the time is gone.

I'd been sagging further and further into my couch, eyes drooping, yawning, before Vincent finally ordered me to bed.

"Mmm…" I'd grumbled as I gathered myself up. "You know where the linen closet is with the extra blankets?"

"I remember," he said softly. I'd forgotten that he didn't really sleep with many blankets anyhow—something to do with his body chemistry changing after the operations, kept him warmer than most, and as I'd find out much later, incredibly snuggly.

I slowly shuffled my way over to his end of the couch and leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for the lovely evening, Vincent," I'd said, smiling at the startled look on his face. "And the show."

He didn't seem to know what to say to that, so he just raised an eyebrow at me and I laughed.

And I'd left it at that for the evening.

He'd been gone before I woke in the morning, which didn't surprise me considering what an early riser he is and what a late riser I am on my days off.

I had the presence of mind to wonder whether or not Vincent is a cuddler and if he'd mind too much sleeping in to cuddle with _me._

The thought made me giggle a little and I shook my head at my silliness.

A cough beside me jerks me from my memories and into the newly sunny again present.

"Need an umbrella, babe?" says a familiar, inappropriately informal voice.

"Reno," I reply with a wry smile. "Since when did you become a gentleman?" I take him in: goggle sunglasses, jeans and a t-shirt, who knew Reno was so _normal_ when he wasn't being paid to be a messy formal? Of course, the t-shirt is too tight, as are the pants, but I'm not really complaining because it's a nice view. I'll say one thing for Shinra, I've never seen a bad-looking Turk, and Reno is no exception.

He shrugs as walks closer, the corner of his mouth raising into a rakish smirk. "Just because you've never experienced it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"Like unicorns and genies in lamps?" I raise my eyebrow at him.

"My manners aren't _that_ fucking rare," he says with a grumble. "Maybe if you weren't so caught up on Spike, you'd have noticed sooner."

"Ah, would that have been before or after the _several_ times you tried to kill me?" I say while poking his chest.

Pulling on the tips of my loose hair, he replies, "Don't you know? Boys _always_ tease the girls they like."

I roll my eyes and change the subject. "What are you doing here? I thought _former_ Turks didn't get vacations?" I drawl. We both know he's still a Turk, even if that's not what they call themselves anymore.

He shrugs at me and smiles as if to say: if I told you, I'd have to kill ya, babe.

"Better question, what are you doing here, in the rain?"

"Yuffie's sick in the villa and I'm on a walk; didn't expect to get caught in the rain."

He perks up some more at Yuffie's name. "Well…Tiny Ninja's here. Rude'll be fucking stoked." He winks at me and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "He hasn't had much fun, now that she's full-time Wutai."

I raise my eyebrow back at him "Well, maybe if he'd, you know, _call_ more often than never, she'd have an excuse to visit more than me."

"You met Rude?" he asks sarcastically. "That boy ain't much of a talker, in case ya didn't notice."

"You met Yuffie?" I reply back, just as sarcastically. "That girl talks more than any person I've ever met, so if he's wanting more than the occasional booty call, he might want to take some initiative." I wiggle his nose with my finger. "I thought you boys were known for taking the initiative?"

Reno winks down at me. "Babe, wouldn't you like to know."

I roll my eyes. Fucking Reno, takes the simplest insult and turns it all against me.

He seems to sense my annoyance and this time he changes the subject. "So, what are you two lovely ladies planning for this evening?"

"Hadn't really decided yet," I say while slowly starting my way back up the path towards the boardwalk. "Dinner and a quiet night in?"

"Fuck that," he replies. "Come clubbing with us."

" _Fuck that_ , do I look like a teenager?" I say before I can stop myself.

Reno gives me an appraising look that lingers a little too long on my hips and _definitely_ too long on my breasts. "Hell no," he says with a devilish grin; he grabs my hand and stops from scurrying away.

"Come on, skirt," he pleads, and all at once I realize why this never worked out before, and never would. Reno sees me much the same way Cloud does—a representation of something. For Cloud, I’m the past, for Reno, I’m a girl in a short skirt masquerading as a warrior.

It's cliché as hell for me to have to tell them that I'm more than that—that someone I'm meant to be with would _already_ know this, but it's the truth.

I've never had to clarify with Vincent; he's always just seen me.

More than the past.

More than a skirt.

Just more.

It's in this moment that I realize just _how much_ I love him. I think I was in love with him for years, but just lying to myself about it—stubbornly and persistently trying to fix something that was broken from the start, because it's what was expected of me. In some ways, it's what I expected of myself—Tifa and Cloud: happily ever after.

I don't believe in happily ever after anymore, but I think what I have with Vincent can be more than that. More than a fairytale, something deep and complete.

Most of all, something we both deserve.

The smile I give Reno is definitely tinged with my revelation.

"I should let you know I'm seeing someone, Reno, and it's pretty serious."

"Well, it wasn't a marriage proposal, babe," but I can tell he's disappointed with the news. "Who's the lucky bastard?"

"Well, he's not a bastard, but it's Vincent."

I can almost feel his eyes bugging out at me. "Vincent. _Vincent Valentine_ , Vincent?"

"The one and only," I grin as I take my hand back and continue walking.

"Wow, here I thought that _I_ never stood a chance, but if ole Vincy's swept you off your feet…"

"Shoulda tried harder, Reno," I say with a laugh, but it wouldn't have worked, and I'm pretty sure we both know it. Reno's so…Reno and me, well, I'm just too Tifa.

"But the claw?" he asks sceptically.

"Removable, obviously."

"The cape?"

"Also removable," I roll my eyes at him.

"But the goth clothes, come on, Tifa! He's a fucking vampire wannabe."

I grin suggestively at him. "Also _very_ removable, Reno."

His face scrunches at the idea. "But… _the fangs_?"

"Fuck your fangs; do you believe _everything_ Yuffie tells you?"

"So, no fangs?" he says.

"No fangs." At least, not human Vincent. His transformations are a completely different issue. But I'm definitely not discussing any of _that_ with Reno.

"Well, whatever. You can still come out with us, can't you? For the ninja's sake?" Reno pleaded, apparently trying to appeal to my sympathy for Yuffie and her lack of sex.

I roll my eyes. "Fine," I agree. His pleading worked.

Just because _I_ won't be getting any this vacation, doesn't mean that I should force anyone else into celibacy.

Reno gives me a gorgeous grin and I can't help but grin back—he's pretty infectious for someone who's tried to kill me on more than a few occasions.

"See you at ‘Karma;’ eight work for you ladies?" he asks as we hit the boardwalk, trying to avoid the groups of families with their children.

"Sounds fine to me. Yuffie should have recovered from the flight by then." I turn in the direction of the villa and Reno stops to wave me off.

"Later, babe," he winks.

"Later, Reno," I say with a raised eyebrow before shaking my head and making my way along the boardwalk.

"Wear something sexy!" he shouts over his shoulder at me.

"I'm always sexy, Reno! _You_ wear something sexy for once," I say over mine.

"Just you fuckin' wait, skirt!"

I roll my eyes at him and gesture to the families making their way around us, eyebrows raised— _think of the children,_ their expressions say.

He just grins back at me and makes his way off the boardwalk.

* * *

 

**A/N~ HOLY MOSES. Another update! I hope you enjoyed this. I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I'm a big fan of the Yuffie/Tifa moments. I tried to make it as embarrassing as I could possibly imagine a friend like Yuffie being lol.**

**Oh please, review and tell me what you think of it :) Good or bad! I can take it (sniff! lol, though seriously, constructive criticism is always appreciated)!**

**Also, in case anyone catches it: fuck yeah, I made a (tiny) Jersey Shore reference. Reno and Rude have always struck me as a little Guido on the inside and it made me laugh. So there. I'm actually a huge Reno fan (okay, Turks in general), so I'm looking forward to those boys. Best part about Costa del Sol? You _never know_ who's going to show up…**

**Again, just me editing, so if I missed anything, pretend I meant it to be that way ;) lol. Thanks for reading (and hopefully reviewing) and for waiting!**

**In case I haven't made it obvious, I don't own Final Fantasy or anything related to the characters there within. But I sure do love writing about them!**

**2015 Edits. Oh, I missed Reno! Isn’t he the shit? Fucking loves. Edited for clarity and changed up some dialog tags.**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole. Do not use in part or whole without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 


	8. Somebody else might take my place

**_When I wake up, I'm afraid, somebody else might tale my place._ **

**_When I wake up, I'm afraid, somebody else might tale my place._ **

**_When I wake up, I'm afraid, somebody else might tale my place._ **

**_When I wake up, I'm afraid, somebody else might end up being me._ **

**_The Neighbourhood, Afraid_ **

* * *

 

Later, much later, after we'd all danced and drank the night away, Reno and I walk together along the beach—me because I'm not quite wanting to go home until Yuffie and Rude are... erm... well, finished whatever they are doing, and Reno because I'm pretty sure he misses having a woman as a friend.

Walking along the sand, heels hanging from my finger—we're quiet for some time, just listening to the soft splash of the waves against the surf.

Eventually, Reno takes off his jacket and spreads it out and we sit down on it together.

We lay back and look up at the stars. They're always gorgeous in Costa del Sol— not too many lights here to keep them from shining bright; their brilliance is always muted in the city.

Reno breaks the silence, "Cloud left then." It's not a question.

"Actually, I'd had enough of the leaving; this time, I left."

"Good for you, babe," he says, and though I can't see him, I know he's smiling.

"So..." he says, taking a moment before starting again. "How long did ole Vinny wait before swooping in and sweeping you off of your sexy feet?"

I elbow him in the ribs. "Reno, it was a mutual decision."

"Ah, yeah. Obviously, it's just that the guy's had bad for you for a while, or didn't you know?"

I don't really know what to say to that so I stay silent. Vincent was always my _friend,_ but I didn't think that he'd thought of me any differently until Cloud was out of the picture and I kind of started making a move.

"Ohh! Fuck!" Reno curses, propping himself up so that he can look at me. "You _didn't know!_ Shit, skirt! Even _I_ could tell! Didn't you ever notice how he was with you when we were fighting?"

I took a moment to think back on it, but I'd never noticed anything in particular. "Really, Reno? I don't remember anything."

It was Reno's time to jab me in the ribs. "Babe, you remember that time I hit you in the side—right there?"

"Ugh," I grumble. "How could I forget?"

Reno and I had been dancing around each other—he with his damn nightstick and me with my plated fists and boots. Cloud and the others had been occupied with Elena and Rude, which had left me alone and on the outskirts with Reno.

I'd gotten a pretty good hit on him, right in the kidneys, and I'd thought he'd go down, but apparently I hadn't hit him hard enough. Reno had launched right back up and hit me hard enough on my unguarded side that it'd split my clothes, broken two ribs and left a nasty gash.

"I still have a scar from that, you know," I accuse, still not completely over it.

"Yeah, sorry about that babe..." he says sheepishly. I shake my head, hardly believing that we're able to have this conversation at all. We've sure come a long way.

At the time, however...

"Well, how's that feel, skirt? When you come out and play with the _big_ boys, you're bound to get hurt."

I'd glared up at him, crumpled over on my knees and holding my side.

"Fuck you."

He'd bit the tip of his tongue and leered at me. "I wish. Tell me, Avalanche babe, how would you like it if I split the other side? Maybe give us Turks a little show? Some more bang for our buck?"

"I hope you fall into the fucking Lifestream," I'd spat, the pain making it hard to focus.

Reno stepped towards me and the electricity from his weapon still seemed like it was vibrating through me—not to mention my hurt ribs, but I tried in vain to scramble back and keep the distance.

"You gonna cry for help? I might like that a little _too_ much," he said, his gaze cold and calculated.

"From a hired goon like you? Not bloody likely," I said through clenched teeth. I _did_ want to scream. The pain was fucking intolerable, and I was pretty sure he was going to kill me—or take me captive, which would have been worse.

"Ahh, I always knew you'd fight till the end," he'd said. "I'd always _dreamed_..." But whatever perverted, taunting thing he'd been planning on saying had been cut off by the blast of a gun.

Barely able to avoid the bullet, Reno cursed, "Yo, vampiro! Why don't you just fuck off and let me finish my job, ya hear?"

I hadn't even known Vincent was out with us. We'd started without him because it was only supposed to have been a scouting mission, so some of the gang had hung back at the Highwind... _Cloud must have used the PHS to call for backup._

A firm, metal hand clasped my shoulder, and I looked up with a great deal of effort. "Vincent," I mumbled. "I... don't think I can fight anymore."

He'd nodded in understanding and fished a maxed cure materia out of his belt and handed it to me. "This will help for now."

And then he'd turned on Reno.

It's funny, I didn't really think there was anything particularly out of character about it—just thought that Vincent was taking care of a comrade, but thinking back on it now... I'd heard that he'd fucking _demolished_ Reno.

"Let's see if vampires can bleed," Reno had challenged.

I'd let out a little cry of pain, which had caused Vincent to turn in my direction— _Stupid! I'm sorry. Ignore me!_ I'd wanted to say, but the pain was getting to the point where I was blacking out, the cure materia rolled uselessly from my hand...

_One..._

_Two..._

And I was done.

I came to a little later and Vincent was carrying me.

"What happened? Is everyone okay?"

"It's over now," he'd said softly, seeming to take great care that he didn't jostle me too much with his movement.

"Where are we going?"

"The Highwind."

"Oh..." I'd mumbled as I snuggled into him a bit—he was so _warm!_ I think I even told him so.

He seemed to chuckle a little, but I think I was only able to hear it because my ear was against his chest. It sounded rusty, like it had been a while since he'd last had something to laugh at.

I was vaguely proud that I'd able to be the one to coax it out of him.

"Vincent... I'm sleepy."

"I cast sleep on you, Tifa."

"Whaa...? Why?"

He didn't look at me, but I'm pretty sure he was smiling as he said, "You ask too many questions."

And then I'd passed out again.

I'd heard later, much later, that they'd practically had to drag Vincent off of Reno, that when he'd transformed into Chaos, Cloud hadn't even been sure that he wouldn't attack _them_ for trying to get in the way. They'd needed the Turks to take information back to Shinra about their whereabouts—to throw them off our tails, so the direction (once we'd been spotted) had been engage, but do not eliminate.

"The only reason he stopped was because Cloud had been able to get through to him by reminding Vincent of _you."_

"I didn't know that," I admit. "I thought he just couldn't control himself once he transformed."

"He couldn't control himself because he was in love with _you_."

"Love? Come on, Reno. We hardly knew each other!"

"His eyes used to follow you around the battlefield, Tifa; he always had your back. At first, I thought it was because... well," he stops with a cough.

"What?" I prompt.

"Well, you asked. You've got an amazing ass, Tifa."

"Reno!"

He laughs and rolls away from me when I try to punch him. "I'm sorry, you asked, and it's fucking true."

He laughs for a few more seconds before continuing, "Anyways, I thought it was because of that, except he _wasn't just_ looking at you, he was making sure you were okay. Whenever you'd get in over your head—which wasn't often that I saw, babe—he'd make sure he was there to help."

I consider it a bit more. Reno was right, actually. Which in and of itself was a little surprising. Vincent had always been there just in the nick of time whenever I'd needed him.

"He visited me in the infirmary, every day for the entire week you put me in there for."

"Well, he put _me_ in the hospital for nearly a month, so I think he made his point. I sure never went for you after that," Reno confesses.

"Karma."

"Yeah, total bitch. Sorry about that all, Tifa. You know you're my doll now."

"Yeah, that's only because I give you and Rude free drinks when you boys are in town," I say with a smirk.

"Not only," he admits with a laugh.

I talk through the whole incident and the days afterwards with Reno—maybe I had been a little blind? Vincent had been really sweet that entire week I'd been laid up, awkward, but really sweet.

I'd woken once to find him looking over me, not in a particularly creepy way, but like he was worried I was going to stop breathing, so he kept checking to make sure I was.

I wiggled a little as I tried to sit up and settled for rolling onto my uninjured side, catching him in the act. I'm pretty sure that, had most of his face not been covered, I would have been able to see him blush.

"Vincent, you're still here?" I'd groggily reached my arm out and patted his chest, not entirely sure that he was real, or a part of one of my medicated dreams.

Vincent cleared his throat and nodded. I poked him in the chest and asked, "Moogle got your tongue, Vincent?"

He took a minute before answering and I couldn't understand why he was being so... gentle? Careful? Overly cautious?

"I simply do not want to disturb the peace."

I laughed. "Vincent, I don't even know how long I've been laying here for; please! For the little time that I'll be awake between meds, keep me company."

He nodded, but didn't seem to know what to say.

I looked him over as he sat there—rod straight and uncomfortable. _I wish he could relax..._ I thought. _Why does he stay if I make him uncomfortable?_

"So... tell me," I started. The medication proved at least _socially_ useful for me whether Vincent was ready for it or not.

"What was it like to be a Turk?" I'd hated them for so long, I had a hard time understanding why anyone would get into that business.

He sighed softly, but eventually he answered, "It was... exciting, at first. As with most things related to Shinra, the corruption became overwhelming."

My gaze caught his. His eyes were always so mesmerizing to me, so vivid, almost as if they were more alive than the rest of him. "Did you want to get out?"

He shifted again, his hand coming up to brush some hair out of my eyes. "Yes."

I grabbed his hand before he had a chance to take it back and held it tight. "Why didn't you?"

"Lucrecia."

"Oh," I didn't have much to say to that.

My eyes slipped close as I asked, "Did you love her?"

It took him a long time before he answered, I half thought that I'd fallen back asleep and that he'd left. "I thought I did."

"And now?" I asked softly.

"I'm not sure. And you?"

He startled me with the question. "Me, what?"

"Do you love Cloud?" I guess it was a fair question, considering I was the one bringing up heartbreak and all.

"I don't even know anymore. I've been falling in and out of love with him since I was fourteen."

"Do children know how to love?" he mused, but now I wonder if there was something more he was saying with his words.

"Probably not, not fully. It breaks your heart, doesn't it?"

"Every time." I squeezed his hand tight, the emotion in those words, the pain in his eyes... Everyone seemed to think that Vincent was cold, emotionless, inhuman, but I think I realized then that he was more human than most, having come to understand, truly, what it means to be human—and what it means to have that humanity taken from you.

"Who else have you loved, Vincent?" For some reason, I really wanted to know. I didn't look at him while I asked, I didn't want to see the hurt, but I wanted to be there to shoulder some of the burden for him.

But he didn't answer, just leaned forward a bit, disentangled his hand and gently nudged me back onto the bed.

"Sleep, Tifa."

"Tell me someday, okay? I want to know. Friends should know about each other," I said with a yawn.

"Someday," he agreed, thought I only half believed him at the time.

Reno pokes me in the side again as I finish.

"He couldn't tell you," he says with a small smirk.

"Why?"

"Because he would have had to admit to himself, and you babe, that it was _you_ he wanted to admit to loving."

"I feel guilty for not noticing—here I thought I was one for picking up subtleties."

"What's the quote, skirt? 'We are all fools in love'?"

I laugh a little and wiggle Reno's nose. "Closet classic romance reader?"

"Don't tell Rude, ya?" A sheepish look falls over his handsome face.

"Ya," I say with a laugh.

I look around the beach and the sun is showing just at the edge of the horizon.

"I should probably get back. They should be done by now, shouldn't they?"

Reno laughs as he sits up, brushes some sand from himself and says, "Gods, babe. We're Turks, not machines!"

"Hah! Here you've always tried to convince us otherwise."

"We're friendzoned, babe. Truth always comes out."

I snatch my shoes up and stand. "Walk me home?"

"Of course, babe. I have a reputation, ya know?"

* * *

 

As we leave the beach, I link my arm through Reno's and walk beside him. I can't help thinking how much my life has changed in a few short years and that it's nice to see that even onetime enemies can band together, save the world, and come out on the other end as friends.

As we round the corner and start up the stairs to the villa, I quickly realize it's not going to be a nice, hot shower and squishy comfy bedtime kind of night.

"Cloud! What the hell are you doing here?" I shout. Cloud is _never_ in Costa del Sol.

"My villa, ain't it?" he replies, gesturing wildly at the house.

" _Our_ villa. You never come here."

"I was in the area and I needed a place to stay," he says, smacking the wall for emphasis.

"So, you didn't know I was here and thought you'd come interrupt my vacation?"

"Shit, Tifa. Not everything is about _you,_ " he said with a scowl.

"Really, so why are you out here instead of inside, then?" I roll my eyes. Of course it isn't, I just can't help the feeling that the reason he's here _might_ be about _us._

"I forgot my key," he says, shuffling awkwardly.

"And you thought you'd wait for me to get back?"

"Your sandals are here, aren't they?" he says, pointing to the ground.

I sigh and look over at Reno.

"You can go, I'll be fine here. Yuffie and Rude are probably sleeping by now, anyways."

"You sure you want me to leave, babe?" Reno asks. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was looking for a reason to lay Cloud out... They never did manage to get along.

"Nah, thanks though, Reno," I say as I gather him in for a hug.

"You got my number, Tifa?" Reno says with a gesture towards Cloud, clearly indicating that if I needed him, he'd be there.

"You betcha," I say with a smile.

"Rude'n I'll be in town in two weeks, you be around?"

"You boys know where to find me. Make sure Rude calls Yuffie this time," I say as he starts to walk away.

He throws me a smile over his shoulder and a wink before walking back towards the town.

I turn to look at Cloud, hand on my hip, eyebrow raised, and a whole lot of pissed off.

"Well…" Cloud drawls. "Where is he?"

I guess he's heard. Good. I want him to know; it's never been my intention to keep it a secret from him.

"He's out on a mission."

"Ah, and I bet he has a happy little homemaker to come home to, then?" he tries to stand, but can't quite get himself to move.

He's drunk, which also doesn't surprise me. The only time Cloud and I ever seem to be able to have heart to hearts is when he's drunk.

Even now, I can't help wondering whose fault that is?

_His?_

_Mine?_

_Aerith's?_

"Stay here. I'll be back in a minute."

He snorts at that, mumbling, "As if I have anywhere else to go."

It's funny that all it took to get Cloud near me was for him to find out that I was potentially dating another person, but I guess that's pretty much the entire dynamic of what our relationship was—heightened emotions driven by jealousy and sadness.

I take a minute and get into my pajamas before I head back outside.

I sit beside him and ask, "Why are you _really_ here?"

"Why are _you_ here?"

I pause, suddenly realizing that we never came here alone together—not once. At least, not without a dirty mishmash of vigilantes with us.

"I needed a vacation, you?"

"I needed some answers."

"Could have called, you know."

"I wanted to hear you say _it_ in person."

"Say _what_ , Cloud?"

"That you left me for _him."_

 _Oh, no you don't!_ I think to myself. He is not going to be the victim in this. We are adults, we made decisions, we hurt each other, but neither one of us is a victim in this.

"I left you, Cloud, because you were never in love with me."

"Of course I…" he starts, but I cut him off.

"Cloud, we were fourteen—what does any fourteen year old really know about love? You were in love with an idea, with Nibelheim, with the life we used to have, with the girl I used to be…" I stop, needing to take a moment to collect myself.

"Even when you forgot all that… you still didn't love _me._ You were the leader, and I was the sidekick. I think we both went along with what everyone else expected of us—what Aerith even expected of us."

"I never wanted to hurt you," he admits, and it's worlds more than I'd ever expected from him.

"I know. I mean, I know that now," I answer truthfully.

I don't think we ever meant to hurt each other, but when a relationship is as broken as ours was, I don't think there's anything else that can happen. It's inevitable that someone, _everyone,_ gets hurt.

"Come inside; you can sleep on the couch."

Cloud nods and stumbles up, I wrap an arm around him and we shuffle through the house.

"You need to stop doing this to yourself," I chide. I will always care about Cloud; we may have made horrible lovers, but I think we could be better friends—and he's going to kill himself if he keeps this up.

"I just..." he starts. I can tell he's trying not to let his emotions get the best of him.

"I just… I don't want it to end like this." Oh gods, please no. I can't break _his_ heart today. Though part of me feels like he would deserve it, I just don't have it in me.

"Cloud," I say slowly, mulling the words over in my mind. "I will always be here for you _."_

"But you're in love with someone else now," he finishes, catching my gaze. I see the resignation in his mako blue eyes—last ditch effort to save a failed relationship, but we've been here too many times before.

"Yeah, actually. I am," I smile, and it's genuine.

"I wish I could say I'm happy for you," he says.

"I wish you could, too," I reply.

"I didn't know that Vincent had it in him. I always thought he was too into his sins to have any sort of future."

"We've been close for a long time; I guess I kind of just realized how much I've always really cared for him," I say.

He nods and stumbles for the couch and I go grab some extra blankets and a pillow.

"Night, Cloud."

"Night, Teef," he says as he clumsily tucks himself in.

I start to walk away, but before I can think better of it there's something I need to say to him, "Cloud?"

"Yeah?" he grumbles.

"We miss her, too; you're not alone."

I feel like it's important that I let him know that—for so long, I think Cloud felt like he was alone, abandoned, that everything worth having had been taken from him... and then me...well.

It's a long time before he answers, but he does, "I know, I'll come 'round more."

"Good. Marlene misses you... We _all_ miss you."

"Thanks, Teef..." he says, his breathing evens out as sleep finally takes him.

* * *

 

He's gone before I wake up, which is what I expected, but I'm still disappointed. Though, as I'm cleaning up our mess from the night before, I notice something scribbled on a pad of paper—his new PHS number.

I smile. I am pretty sure that I'm the only one of his "friends" that has this. I'm glad he's at least willing to stay in touch with us now.

Maybe one day he'll be ready to come back and stay with Cid and Shera, like they've offered so many times before.

Maybe one day he'll forgive himself for all the sins that he's committed, and all the sins that he didn't but still blames himself for.

I sit on the porch and wait for Yuffie to wake up—it probably won't be for a while and it actually looks like Rude _didn't_ sleep over, which kind of concerns me; then again maybe he's playing it straight and trying to be a gentleman. Could be a good sign.

Vincent had sent me a text this morning, sometime early. Which was really sweet considering it's not something he used to do, but I guess it was something he was getting used to doing.

_Hope your day goes well._

_See you soon,_

_Vincent_

Okay, so it wasn't exactly epic poetry, but Vincent was more known for the few words he _does_ say and I'm tickled pink that he was thinking about me enough to text.

_Oh, new-old love!_

So I texted back:

_Day going well._

_Can't wait to see you!_

Okay, so I don't want to come off as too needy, but I do miss him. I guess that's new as well. I mean, I always miss my friends when I don't see them, but now I miss him... _more,_ I guess.

I curl my legs up and rest my coffee mug on top of my knees.

I'll be sad when the vacation is over but...

Home means Vincent.

The days pass by quickly and Yuffie is able to spend some more time with Rude. Reno got called back for work, so my partner in crime was taken away.

Which was alright, just meant that I spent more time on the beach and less time in the clubs—fine by me! I love a good tan.

The last day, Yuffie drags herself around—obviously not wanting to go and pretty moody throughout the whole day.

So I wait for her to come to me. I've tried being the one to break the ice before, but she usually just gets angry that way. Better to wait for her to come to me.

On the way to the plane, I could tell something was _really_ bothering Yuffie—which was fine, I knew it'd take about three seconds more before she'd blurt the whole thing out.

Three..

Two…

One—"What would you do if Rude and I started dating?" _Ahh! So, that's it!_ She seems pretty concerned as if my opinion is going to make or break her decision.

"Well, as long as you're happy, I'd be happy for you," I say it and I mean it. Everyone's got shit from their past that they aren't proud of, that they can't change, but I really think Reno and Rude, despite their occupations, really have changed for the better.

Besides, who am I to judge? An ex-freedom fighter; you may as well just call it what it was: terrorist. There were innocent people who lost their lives because of the actions we took though it seemed like there wasn't any way of avoiding it at the time—either let Shinra destroy the planet or do something about it. But we might have judged our actions better—gone after the source and not just the quick fix of deactivating one of the reactors.

"What would Cid do?" she asks. This time there's more than just concern, and I can understand why. Cid is a little harder to convince where all things Shinra are concerned.

"Well, honey, you just have to do what's best for you. Has Rude asked you out officially?" As if a week's worth of attention wasn't declaration enough.

"No…but what if?" Yuffie asked while tapping her foot nervously.

"What's worse: having him in your life or not having him?" I ask.

"Not having, but it's scary, Teef! I never thought I'd go for someone like him; honestly, I've always thought I preferred blonds."

I laugh softly at that. "Welcome to the club; but, I've always thought Reno and Rude were sexy as hell."

"It's the suits," she agrees.

"That and the fact that they're buff, cocky and dangerous."

"Yeah, that _might_ have something to do with it."

We laugh and she links her arm with mine. "You're like my best, big-sister."

"I'm not _that_ much older than you," I grumble, but I'm not really angry. Yuffie is like the little sister I never had, though she's a little wild, I love her just the same.

"Do I get to be Maid of Honor at your wedding?" I joke.

"Shut the fuck up, Tifa! As if... yech!"

I laugh. "What's wrong with marriage?"

"Old people shit."

"You are getting up there... not some little teenager anymore..."

"Ask me when I'm on the wrong side of twenty-five and I'll have a better answer for you."

"Ohh! Touchy!"

But we laugh our way on to the plane, happy and stupid in love—the both of us.

* * *

 

We make it back in fairly good time and with a pretty smooth ride. Yuffie wasn't as airsick as she usually is, I mean, she still _was,_ just not as bad.

 _Marcus has been practicing his flying techniques!_ I can't help sending a little silent shout out to our once mostly inept pilot.

We part ways—Yuffie's going to visit some friends in the city before heading back to Wutai, but I think it's an excuse to drag out her visit so she'll meet up with Rude in a week.

Which is fine. I tell her that she's welcome whenever she needs somewhere to crash, so I expect her in a few days, but she knows where my extra key is.

I head to the bar to get a jump-start on the paperwork that's no doubt stacked up in the week and a bit that I've been gone.

I arrive and make my rounds—saying hi to Cookie and Kara before diving into the office. Things look good—a little dead, but it's midweek, so that's kind of typical.

Everything's back to normal, plus a tan. Vincent's supposed to stop by tonight, which is great because I've missed him and want to show off my new, glowing skin.

I shiver at the thought.

_Can't wait._

The day passes in a blur of paperwork and activity—a couple of hours before closing, we get a rush. So I'm out on the floor helping for the rest of the night.

It's finally, blessedly near closing and the phone rings. "Tifa, Seventh Heaven!" I answer.

"Yo, Teef," a grumbly voice answers back.

"Barret! How are you? Is everything okay? You're calling pretty late..."

Usually when Barret calls this late, it means there's something up with Marlene. She's starting to get to the age where there's some "girly shit" coming up that Barret has no idea how to deal with.

"Teef..." he starts.

Now I'm worried; Barret usually just barrels through whatever it is that needs to be said—not much for phone conversations at all.

"What is it, Barret?"

"We lost Vincent."

"Lost Vincent?" I parrot, uncomprehending.

"You know we sometimes hire him for... extermination..." he says the word softly, but I get the meaning. It's not something that Vincent and I talk about a lot. It's hard for him to talk about anything that's related to the creatures he has inside him, so I don't bring it up. But I did know, thanks to Shera, that Barret and Reeve sometimes use Vincent's "talents" to help clear out and rehabilitate areas.

"We were trackin' and keepin' in contact fine; then he got into a bit of a brawl..." his voice trailed off.

"How long ago?"

"Two days."

" _Two days!_ And you're _just_ calling me now?" I rage.

"Happened before, Teef. Thought we could handle it."

"What do you need?"

"Get yo' ass on a plane; We're near Nibelheim."

He doesn't have to tell me twice.

* * *

 

**DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN! Okay, I'm bad with promises, but I know how I want to end it now (and I didn't before! SHEESH. You'd think I'd figure that shit out before writing a story, or something). It should help. I had a major, mother fucker of writer's block with this sucker, so I'm sorry it took so long—really I am. I will finish this—that's one promise I will make and keep!**

**Also, quote about “fools in love” is from Pride and Prejudice—if you haven't read it.. GET ON IT! MR. DARCY. YES.**

**Any mistakes are my own and your understanding is appreciated; I've gone over this, but I really need to exorcise this sucker from my computer.**

**Thank you for everyone whose stuck with this and sent me messages and reviews—I really appreciate them, from the bottom of my heart.**

**2015: Edits. I think this is the chapter I’m the most proud of. Hope you enjoyed it! Cleaned up a bit and fixed a few mistakes! Enjoy! The end is nigh!**

**Please don't use this story in part or in whole without the expressed permission of the author; seriously, it took a long time to write**

 


	9. Broken Wings

**_Surprise! Going off the rails a bit on this one—not that any of this is canon, per se. Seriously had to bust out the ole strategy guide for this one hah. Enjoy!_ **

* * *

 

 **_You know where you are with_ **  
_**Floor collapsing**_  
 _**Floating, bouncing back**_  
 _**And one day...**_  
 _**I am going to grow wings**_  
 _**A chemical reaction**_  
 _**Hysterical and useless**_  
 _**Hysterical and...**_

**Radiohead, Let Down**

* * *

 

Taking a look around, I pause and breathe in the air—really deep. Fresh, clean, and crisp in a way that the city can never be. It's not enough to make me like it any better.

I haven't been here since we were last tracking Sephiroth. I never wanted to come back—why would I? I don't have many good memories of Nibelheim.

_Mom's death._

_Dad's death._

_The town burning._

_Sephiroth's attack._

I shudder. I fucking _hate_ this place.

It's the exact reason why I live in a city that is nothing like this. My city is full and crowded and near the water. _Near so much life._

Even now, the town seems like it has a veil of death hanging over it. Reconstructed homes, though they were once filled with Shinra employees, that look somber, hardly lived in.

I try not to focus on the bad memories, but Vincent being missing isn't helping much.

"Why the fuck did you guys send him out here?" I rage. "You know what this town did to him...did to _me..."_ I'm not a crier—not anymore anyways, but I'm tired and upset and really damn worried about Vincent. So I _might._

 _Who knows what kind of memories this place will drag up for him?_ I wonder.

"Vince volunteered, Teef," Barret grumbles while shrugging his huge shoulders. He knows better than to piss me off when I'm about to go on a rampage.

" _And why_ would he do that?"

"Because there were reports of individuals in and around the reactor, Tifa. Not to mention the increase in monster sightings in the past few months," says a voice from behind us. I turn and take a look. Dark, perfectly tailored suit. Fashionably shaggy hair. Rugged facial hair that I'm sure he thinks helps him connect with the public.

I frown. Not impressed. "Reeve, when did you get here?" I say as I cross my arms; if these boys think they can double-team me with their bullshit, they're in for a surprise.

"An hour or so ago. I had some issues with the reception at the inn...well, never mind that. Hello, Barret. Is Cid here?" Reeve tries to steer the conversation away from where I want to take it—not going to fucking happen, boyo.

"Cid flew back immediately to be with his very pregnant Shera," I say before Barret can get a word in. "Are you the reason Vincent is somewhere out there? Where's Cait Sith? Or are you going to join us on this one?" We need to get going— _yesterday._

"Tifa." Reeve is using his "Please calm down and let me explain" voice, which I'm sure he used about a billion times in the boardroom with Heidegger and Scarlet.

I'm throwing off my: I'm super upset and want to punch someone in the face vibe. So he better be quick and make it good.

"There were reports that Sephiroth was seen roaming in the area."

"Holy shit," I say, caught completely off guard. After a moment, I reply with only a little snark, "I'm pretty sure he fell into the Lifestream and died."

"Just like how we were all pretty sure Cloud had done the same?" he counters.

I gesture angrily at the town, at the mountain, at that _damn mansion._ "What the fuck, Reeve! How long have you guys been keeping this from me—and you _convinced_ Vincent?"

I am having a hard time believing that Vincent would buy into anything but the unadulterated truth, so I try and calm myself to listen.

"Yes. We actually had a visual confirmation from Vincent before his PHS went dead."

I'm pretty sure my face goes from bright red indignation to lily white in about a nanosecond. "You mean to tell me that Vincent had _visual_ confirmation of _Sephiroth,_ the lab experiment that killed my dad and burned my town to the ground, _and you thought it would be a good idea to send Vincent after him alone?"_

Reeve takes a step back, probably sensing that I'm about to pounce on him and shake the stupidity from his brain. _I'm not_ , but I sure make myself look like I am.

"We had given strict orders for him to see whether or not he could visually confirm his presence—which he did—and then withdraw. Only, he didn't make it back to the rendezvous point..." Reeve trails off and has the decency to look embarrassed.

"So where was he last?" I prod, eager to get moving.

"Outside of the reactor."

"And when are we going?"

"First thing tomorrow morning..." Reeve starts, but I cut him off.

" _Tomorrow!_ Vincent could be _dead_ tomorrow!" I didn't realise that I was making my way towards Reeve until Barret held me back.

"Teef, ain't no way we can head out at night. You know that..."

I do, but I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't do _something._

"Besides, I've contacted Red and Yuffie as well...They will be joining us as soon as their helicopters arrive."

I sigh, still half-planning to sneak out at night and go it alone—despite the fact that I know I'll need the help if it is actually Sephiroth out there.

I grumble out something about going for a walk and I try not to resent the fact that Reeve seems to be deciding whether or not he should be sending someone with me.

"I'm not stupid enough to go off alone to face Sephiroth..." I say before I can stop myself. Because I've done it before—and earned myself a nice scar for my trouble, but I'm pretty sure I've learned since then.

If I need to fight him, I'm going to need all the help I can get.

So I go. And I walk and walk and walk. I don't pay any attention to where I'm going, so it's a relative surprise when I find myself at the entrance to the Shinra Mansion.

_I wonder if Vincent's coffin is still in there?_

I'd check, but I have more important issues to deal with. Maybe if we both make it out of this mess alive, I'll get him to give me a tour—so I can pull that horrible coffin out in to the light and burn the motherfucker.

The thought gives me a wicked sense of satisfaction.

I try not to give into the frustration and emotions I'm feeling, but I'm having a hard time keeping the tears from my eyes, especially when I'm confronted with so many memories of the past.

I remember when we first found Vincent.

And I was immediately terrified of him. Okay, so maybe that's not entirely true, but you meet someone who looks like the embodiment of a real-life vampire and see how you react.

He'd been in that coffin for years, so he was erm...more than a little dusty when we'd convinced him to come out of it. Gaunt, red eyes sunken, and frail looking—and then we'd gotten into our first fight.

If the monsters had thought they were in for an easy meal, they'd been wrong.

I've never seen anyone use a gun like Vincent—it's almost like he knows _exactly_ where the bullets are going to hit, even before he pulls the trigger.

I wouldn't say it's beautiful, but there's an artfulness to the way he shoots. And besides, he's impressive as hell when he does trick shots.

Before we'd even gotten started, Vincent had finished for us. Three headshots and three dead monsters. He'd walked on ahead while we gathered around—equal parts terrified and impressed.

Just what had we gotten ourselves into?

Later, when we'd taken a break from fighting and searching, Vincent had appeared in the conference room of the Highwind, which was where the team usually met to plan attacks and strategize.

We'd started the meeting without him because we'd kind of forgotten about him.

He'd barely made a sound as he came up behind us. He coughed and drew attention to himself, probably so that he didn't scare anyone. Vincent is always subtly considerate like that—you might think he's an aloof asshole, when really he's just trying not to take up too much space or upset anyone. He's gotten better lately—it happens when you start to actually forgive yourself for crimes that you had _nothing_ to do with, but it still happens sometimes.

Looking slightly embarrassed, Aerith tried to welcome him into the conversation. "You look so different, Vincent...We we're just discussing..."

Yuffie wasn't as tactful and completely interrupted Aerith, "Holy shit! Vamp—you clean up pretty well."

 _And how..._ I couldn't keep from mentally agreeing. Though he still had the cloak and cowl—and the wicked looking gauntlet, there was a discernible difference between Vincent straight from the coffin, and Vincent freshly clean. He'd left the wrappings off, which mean that his dark hair cascaded around his face in waves. I didn't think that I had a thing for guys with long hair; I mean, at that point I was pretty certain I was into spiky and blond, but Vincent would eventually flip that right on its head.

Even his clothes had been cleaned—free of dust and grime, they were a lot more menacing and somewhat mesmerizing. I wondered how he cleaned them and tried not to think about what he'd worn when he'd done that.

_Probably nothing._

I blushed and looked away when Vincent caught me staring.

He said nothing.

I said nothing.

He left the room after saying something about needing sleep.

_Really? Someone who has slept twenty-seven years probably doesn't need any more sleep._

Part of me felt like it was my fault, that I'd made him feel uncomfortable, so I ran after him.

"Vincent," I called and he stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Um...where are you going?" It was the best I could come up with. Vincent hadn't been with us for very long, but he definitely wasn't fitting in—not that Cid and Barret's constant chatter about his supposed connections to Shinra were helping or anything.

I just, I mean, I felt like I _wanted_ him to be a part of what we were doing. No, more than that. I wanted him to be my friend.

At the time, I didn't really give it much thought. I always seemed to want everyone to be my friend. Constantly a fucking people pleaser, but Vincent...I felt like, if I didn't befriend him—give him a link to the present and a face for it—that he'd end back in that coffin after all was said and done.

The thought broke my heart.

He took a while to answer me. I guess he was considering whether or not he should, or whether or not I'd just keep following and pester him.

"The deck." Okay, so it was short and sweet, but it gave me something to work with.

"Oh! I love it outside; there's this perfect little spot to stand where the wind hardly even hits you. Come on, I'll show you!"

And that was it. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to be a part of my life. And I was going to keep him.

We met on the deck often—I hadn't lied, I did love it out there. Sometimes I'd go to be alone and I'd find him there too and we stand, sometimes sit, against the giant steel airship, in companionable silence. Sometimes I'd talk and he'd listen. Sometimes he'd talk back. Sometimes I would cry, though I hated myself for it.

After we'd lost Cloud and before we'd found him, I'd felt like the world was collapsing around me—though, if I'm honest with myself, I'd been feeling that way for a very long time.

I was sitting curled up in my customary spot on the deck, trying to be invisible.

And failing.

Vincent can move silently when he wants to, and I knew he was trying to alert me to his presence—maybe so that I could turn away and wipe the tears from my eyes without embarrassment.

But I wasn't embarrassed, I don't even know if I was sad at that point. Maybe I was just overwhelmed.

"Tifa..." he said after clearing his throat.

"Hi, Vincent."

I didn't say anything else for some time and I'd thought he'd turned and left before I finally heard him settle beside me. We passed the time in silence before I finally spoke. "Vincent, can I ask you something?"

He didn't say anything, but I watched him nod at me.

"Do you think we're going to win this?" _Sephiroth, Shinra, Jenova...Everything._

He shrugged casually, but his eyes caught mine with his answer. "What will be, will be."

"Destiny, then?"

"Determination," he said. And I laughed, a hollow little sound.

"Vincent...Do you want to know something terrible?"

"I've been privy to many terrible things in my lifetime, Tifa." And though he didn't say it, I could tell by his tone that he meant: You couldn't possibly tell me anything more horrible than what I already know.

I sat in uncomfortable silence, shifting enough that my leg brushed up against his.

With a big sigh, I admitted, "I don't know if I'm sad that Cloud is gone...or if I'm sad that the person he _was_ is gone."

"What do you mean?" he asked. He definitely noticed how close I was, that our bodies were touching, but he didn't do anything about it—maybe he'd come to expect it from me.

"I mean...Cloud—the one that fell into the Lifestream... he's not _my_ Cloud..."

Vincent nodded and finished for me. "Shinra changed him."

"I'm scared, Vincent."

"Of what, Tifa?"

"That I'm in love with an idea...or what I'm pretending he is."

That seemed to strike a nerve with him—a little too close to home. Vincent shifted around to face me, stared down into my tearstained face. Slowly, so slowly I think he was waging some sort of internal war with himself, he raised his hand to my face and brushed the tears from my cheek.

"We will find him, Tifa," he promised me. "Then you can decide."

_Whether or not to stay together. Whether to give it up. Whether to abandon everything. Whether he's the man I think he is..._

The end of the world and, yet, I was still so young...so naive.

"Maybe that's what I'm afraid of."

"What?" He seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Vincent...I don't want to lose this. One day...when Cloud is here, _if_ he's here...Promise me something?"

He gave a curt little nod. I don't think he was used to making promises.

"Promise that you won't disappear...That we'll always be here for each other."

It took a long time. Long enough that I'd convinced myself that he wouldn't, but eventually he spoke, "I promise." I pressed my cheek into his palm, turned my face and kissed his hand.

He gave me a little look, something between hope and disbelief.

Former Turk...Former anarchist...it's funny how people become friends.

How they become lovers.

I didn't love him then, not as anything other than a friend, but I think the seed was planted between us. In that moment, I knew Vincent would move mountains to keep that promise to me.

As the weeks turned into months, we became closer.

And when the end came, and we faced Sephiroth, I became his reason to stay.

And eventually he became my reason to believe in love—and myself.

I hear someone's footsteps in the gravel behind me and I don't have to turn around to know that Yuffie had come looking for me.

We stand for a minute and just look at the crumbling mansion, with so many horrors concealed within.

"You okay?" I'm pretty sure she asks because she can't think of anything else to say.

"I will be."

"We're heading out in at 0600; Reeve is formulating some sort of a plan..."

"Might have been good of him to do that _before,_ you know, with _Vincent."_

I can't help it; I'm still angry.

"Fucking tell me about it," Yuffie agrees. She looks like she's dressed for war. Giant shuriken balanced on her shoulder and an outfit I just know was made custom for her by Reeve's team.

"Shit looks heavy," I say, pointing to the black, skin-tight outfit that's strategically plated with metal.

"New technology. It's the real deal."

 _Hmm...Almost as if Reeve has been anticipating this. I wonder what else he's been keeping from me?_ I make a mental note to interrogate Reeve later because presently my mind is occupied.

Yuffie and I make our way back to the hotel and Nanaki is waiting outside to greet us, his giant body crouched and tense.

"What, no fancy suit for you?" I joke as the giant feline moves to his feet and stalks towards us.

His deep voice rumbles with his reply, "You know I prefer to fight unencumbered, Tifa."

_Ah, so Reeve did offer, then._

I'm almost embarrassed. It's been a while since I've seen Nanaki, but we do keep in touch. I resist the urge to reach out and pet him—even though _I know_ he likes it. He's almost an adult now and I wouldn't want to disrespect the place he has within his tribe, even if he is the softest friend I have. I content myself with a hug, which he returns with his giant head.

"Of course, Nanaki. How are you? How's Cosmo Canyon?" I ask.

"Beautiful and isolated, as always."

"Good," I say with a smile and he nods his agreement.

"You two ready for this?" Yuffie asks, practically bouncing on the heels of her feet. I guess she's been itching for a fight.

"I keep up with my karate," I reply. Which is mostly true, though I'm a little soft from my vacation.

"I still perform the rituals of my tribe. We are always prepared for conflict."

Between what was done to him by Shinra and his own background within a warrior tribe, Nanaki is always at the top of his game.

"Red, you live in a canyon with a bunch of hippies," Yuffie teases. "What are you preparing for, exactly?"

Nanaki fixes his good eye on Yuffie; if she were anyone else, I'd be worried. Nanaki and her haven't always gotten along. Though they're both mentally similar in age, Yuffie takes great joy in pushing other people's buttons and Nanaki is a lot less interested in annoying anyone.

"Not everyone is able to depend on their siblings and parents to defend them," he says to her curtly.

"Ohh, _low blow_ , Red."

I interrupt before they can escalate their little fight further. "Didn't you say you spent most of your days in the hot springs now, Yuffie?"

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles. "But I can still kick some ass!"

"Which is precisely why you are here," Reeve says as he makes his way out of the hotel and into the night with us.

"You really think it's a good idea to go out after Sephiroth?" Yuffie asks.

"What choice do we have, Yuffie?"

No one really has an answer. We're not about to abandon a friend to an uncertain fate.

Yuffie shuffles her feet a bit and slides her hands in her pockets. "I fucking hate this town."

"Feeling is mutual," I agree.

Reeve ushers us all into the hotel and lets us in on his plan. It's typical—almost feels familiar—we break into two groups: Yuffie, Red and I in one, Reeve (controlling Cait Sith remotely) and Barret in the other. I hold back a snicker at that. Guess Reeve doesn't want to deal with my attitude on the battlefield.

Staggered approach on the field—my team goes first, Reeve's second; no idea what we're going to encounter out there, so it's best to prepare for the worst.

After Reeve's little powwow, we head to our rooms.

Sleep doesn't come easy, but when it finally does I'm out like a light.

* * *

 

The next day, we head out on schedule and everything's going as planned, that is, until Yuffie, Nanaki and I are making our way through the caves on the way to the reactor.

"Shit looks sketchy as fuck, Teef," Yuffie remarks.

"Though I would not use the same language, I have reservations about the condition of the mountain, as well," Nanaki says, eyebrow of his good eye raised at Yuffie's language.

"Come on, Red. Stop being such an old... _cat._ "

Nanaki ignores her, but says, "It would be best to wait for the rest of the team to catch up."

We'd staggered our start times so that there'd be less of us on the tiny trail at one time—and so if anything went wrong, there was a team coming up the rear that could signal for help from Reeve's men back at the village.

"We need to keep going. Vincent is counting on us," I say as I make my way through the threshold of the cave. I'm used to the caves moving, so the rocks skittering and falling from place doesn't faze me much—I practically grew up on this mountain.

Eventually though, the subtle motions of the mountain and the little skips of stones turns into something more—something _bigger._

"Teef..." I hear Yuffie start to say, just before the exit to the cave.

I turn and see with horror that the side of the entrance is poised to slide right in—and on top of my friends.

"Back! _Get back!_ " I cry. Luckily, Nanaki moves faster than Yuffie and he's able to rush her out of the way of the tumbling rock and earth.

Eventually, the rubble settles—now completely covering the exit and the rest of the path.

"We're fucking stuck here, Tifa!" Yuffie projects through the fallen rocks—not particularly subtle, but if we were going for sneaky, all of our screams and the mountain shifting had completely ruined that.

"Fuck!" I curse. I knew I should have argued with Reeves about walking through the mountains—as if I hadn't already had experience with this place trying to kill me. Initially, Reeve had wanted us to go out on foot—it's less obvious that we're formulating an offensive when you _don't_ have helicopters announcing our arrival, but it didn't matter now.

"I'll find Cait and signal the 'copters," Yuffie says, her voice muffled by the rock.

"Give me an hour," I plead.

"I do not like this, Tifa," Nanaki yells from behind the rubble.

"I don't either, but give me a chance." It's dumb, I know. I've gone up against Sephiroth alone before and lost, but this time I have a hell of a lot more master materia.

"It'll take an hour for us to walk back anyways," Yuffie notes.

"Take care of yourself, Tifa," Nanaki says. "We will be at the entrance to the reactor as soon as possible."

"Thanks, Nanaki," I reply as I turn my back on the rocks and continue on the trail, making my way towards the reactor.

* * *

 

It's been so long since I've been to Mount Nibel—so long since I've been in the reactor.

I was alone when my father was murdered here. I'm alone now. It feels right. I _should_ be the one to find Vincent. I send up a silent plea to whoever...whatever is listening: _Please, let him be alive._

Walking up the stairs and through the entrance... _Gods._ The memories flood me. Trying not to let them get the best of me, I take a deep breath and steady myself.

 _I can do this. I can help him._ Determined, I carry on through the barely functioning reactor. Though Reeve has been doing his best to decommission most of the reactors, there are still a few—especially in remote locations like this—that haven't been touched.

It's like stepping back in time as I make my way along the skinny walkway, making sure not to trip and fall into the Lifestream below.

Trying for silence, I move quickly and quietly, making my way closer to the core. Finally, after scanning my eyes over the experiment pods, I notice Vincent slumped against one.

It's been a while since I've seen Vincent in his field clothes. Crumpled against the wreckage of Hojo's pods, I can't tell where the cloak ends and the blood begins.

I asked him once why he wore the clothing that he did. Said something about not having to worry about getting the bloodstains out.

I'm more than a little pissed that he's decided to prove the point for me at the moment...and more than a little bit worried.

I start to walk towards Vincent when I'm interrupted. In a blur of movement that my eyes can't quite follow, Sephiroth pulls between us and stands, sword pointed towards me.

He stares at me for a long moment. Humorless and pitiless eyes scanning me, searching for signs of danger.

"Who are you?"

I feel like the wind's been knocked from my lungs. "Who am _I?"_ I sputter.

He doesn't fucking remember me.

After all that he's done.

_He doesn't know who I am..._

And I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

"My name...is Tifa," is what comes out.

"Why are you here?" he asks, his deep voice rumbling through me—terrifying me.

"To save my partner," I gesture towards where Vincent is huddled over.

"You aren't from Shinra?"

"I fought against them once."

He seems to consider my words before he suggests, "He is hurt. You need to get him out of here before it returns."

_It. The monster._

"What are you doing here, Sephiroth?" I have to know. After all this time, after everything—we thought he'd killed him.

"I don't know."

"Do you remember what happened? What you did to the planet?"

He nods.

"We killed you," I remind him. I don't know what I'm trying to prove here, but the whole thing is just so fucked that I can't make sense of it.

He shrugs. "I am eternal."

_The Lifestream...Vincent and I...All this time; ever alone._

The thought makes me sad.

"They fucked everything up." And it's so insubstantial. Shinra ruined far more than they'll ever realize.

He looks like he's about to say something, but a roar distracts us both. Sephiroth turns, his back facing me, Masamune extended casually to his left.

"Leave," is all he says and I scramble to where Vincent is hunched over and gently poke and prod him.

I don't have much time. This shit is about to get real, really fast. "If we get out of this, I might handcuff you to my bed for a few months," I say, half joking, evaluating the gash along his chest.

Vincent gives me a weak smile—obviously in pain. "If we get out of this, I might let you," he replies.

I wink at him, but keep focused. "Where are you hurt?"

"Through my abdomen. It would heal with time, but I do not think we have much..." he says with a cough.

I turn my head to see a lumbering, horrific creation slithering its way towards us.

Sephiroth comes between us and the creature and regards us strangely for a moment before attacking.

The way Sephiroth moves, I mean, knowing where he came from and what they did to him, it makes sense, but still...

It's like in the movies, I mean, the movies they _used_ to have before the world went to shit. Big budget—blockbuster types. When the world was vibrant and gaudy, throwing money at everything and anything in the hopes of making a big return.

He moves so fast it almost looks as if he hasn't moved at all. And his sword—I'd swear it was another limb judging from how natural it looks in his hand.

I expect to see sparks fly from the vicious contact between Masamune and the... _experiment._

_I can't believe they're still here...after all this time._

It was surprising enough that the pods still had anything inside of them, let alone that anything _survived._

"What were you doing in here?" I ask Vincent.

"Following Sephiroth."

"You decided to follow _Sephiroth._ The almost destroyer of worlds— _by yourself?"_

He doesn't answer, but I can tell that he's more than a little embarrassed, or he would be if he weren't currently bleeding all over me.

"Creature got the jump on me."

"You didn't sense it?" That was surprising given Vincent's preternatural senses.

"They've been modified," he clarifies.

 _Oh. Right. Hojo._ I wonder what other horrors are contained within these pods?

I turn my head back to Sephiroth and watch him... _move_. It's fluid—fantastic. He's everything they ever said he was and so much more.

I'd had a crush on Sephiroth when I first met him—and who fucking wouldn't? Tall, mysterious—and when he smiled, just a little...

_Too fucking much._

Too bad there was a lot of psychopath under that pretty face.

Looking back on it, I don't know who I hate more—Sephiroth, Hojo, Shinra...Vincent's Lucrecia. They're all responsible in some way for what happened—how it affected my life. And yet, I wonder how I would have reacted had I found out that I was nothing more than a pawn in someone else's elaborate game? Especially when I'd been built up to be some super soldier, a god to some.

I'm Tifa.

I've always been Tifa.

But if someone came up to me right now and told me that I'd been born from some sort of unholy union of science, magic, and psychopathic passion...

I like to think that I'd have handled it better.

But I don't know, really.

And watching him now...it brings all those memories and feelings to the forefront.

He's still beautiful.

Able to manipulate a weapon that literally no one else on the planet can. A weapon that killed my father and my friend.

And now...

It's saving me and the man I love.

Saying that I don't know where to direct my fire materia would be the understatement of the century.

I look over at Vincent. The _pod creature_ is between us and Sephiroth—the latter doing a pretty bang up job at keeping the monster distracted and away from us.

Vincent's eyes are even more red than normal—the irises seem to bleed out into the whites, making him look fierce—and utterly on the verge of transforming.

"Keep it together," I urge. If he transforms now...hurt like this...I don't know what will happen, or who will decide to show themselves.

When Vincent is healthy, his transformations in battle are _helpful,_ some part of his mind is able to stay completely _Vincent,_ so even though his bestial side comes through, it's tempered with his humanity.

When he's hurt, it's a different story.

I've heard legends about berserkers, ancient beings who can't control their emotions when they're fighting and who move and kill like demons. Normally, Vincent with a gun is impressive enough—Vincent transformed is another thing entirely.

Once, when we'd been fighting a particularly nasty battle during our journey to keep up with and catch Sephiroth, Vincent had a giant fucking piece of debris shoot out at him after he'd mistimed his shot—the wood had pierced him through the shoulder.

He'd been bleeding—big time.

I'd been fighting near him, so I'd seen the entire thing.

"Vincent!" I'd cried. "Are you okay? _Fuck!"_

He'd doubled over, blood flowing from the spike that had impaled him. Vincent looked at me and I could see the struggle—him fighting to keep his beasts at bay.

That day, he lost.

And it had taken three master sleep materias to keep him from fighting to death.

I almost lost him that day; I have no intention to have a repeat now.

As quickly as I can, I try to arrange Vincent so that I can help walk him out of danger. We shuffle along the ground and away from the monster pods. And we almost make it.

In a last-ditch effort to save itself, the horrifying, deranged monster rounds on Sephiroth, rising to its full height. I can tell that it's going to defend with magic to try and get Sephiroth to back off.

I think we have enough time to make it past and out of the pod room, but I'm wrong.

I misjudge the timing of the monster and I pay for it— _big time._

The monster casts—an icy blast shooting from the palm of its hand. Sephiroth is fast enough to evade.

 _I am not_.

When it hits me, it doesn't even hurt. I mean, _I know_ it's going to hurt, but it doesn't right away. Like my mind is playing catch up with all that's happened.

It hits me in my stomach and sends me soaring backwards.

I feel myself being ripped from Vincent—the blast missing him entirely—and forcing me out of the room...and over the ledge.

There's nowhere to go but down.

Nowhere but into the Lifestream.

It feels like I'm falling forever and then, right after I hit the stream— _hard_ , I feel someone— _Vincent?_ Wrap their arms around me.

Pull me close. Must have jumped with me.

 _Idiot._ But I love him for it.

Even though it's not enough.

We hit the Lifestream and sink; I have to concentrate around the pain to keep from breathing in unintentionally.

And as the flowing liquid pulls us under, as Vincent tries to pull me into his body—to do what, I don't know— _I feel it_.

A presence.

And suddenly, I'm not scared anymore. If anything, I'm relieved.

I'm going to drown, _and I'm relieved._

_It makes no sense._

But as the Lifestream flows around us, pulling Vincent and I deeper, I can't stop the smile.

I hold onto Vincent with everything that I have left as the pain finally catches up with my mind.

But, eventually, even that doesn't matter.

It's nothing compared to the overwhelming feeling of calm.

Of rightness.

This moment is enough...

Is eternal...

Before I pass out, before I start to allow the liquid into my mouth and down my throat, I can't help but feel like it's going to be okay.

Like I'm surrounded by flowers...and something more...

A laugh resonates inside my mind—a tug forward...

As everything goes bright...then fades to nothing.

* * *

 

**A/N~ Don't hurt me...? I'm not finished, so don't drag out the pitchforks and torches just yet. I believe in happy endings, so I wouldn't worry too much...probably. I'm not really sure of what to say; this all changed so many times in my head over the years that I think, if you told me, that I'd still be writing this and that _this_ is how things would start to end...I probably wouldn't have believed you.**

**It will turn out all right in the end, you'll see! Any mistakes are my own (hopefully there aren't lots). Thank you for sticking with me. Almost at the end now. I'm so sad about it.**

**2015 OH WASN’T THAT FUN?! Haha. I’m pretty evil, eh? Making you wait this long. Totally unintentional, but it’s almost done now! Love and hugs for reading and reviewing! Cleaned up some confusing sentences, but not much was changed in this one.**

 


	10. If you wait

**_This is it. Are you ready?_ **

* * *

**_And can you give me everything...?_ **

**_Everything, everything._ **

**_‘Cause I can’t give you anything._ **

**_And you wait, if you wait I will trust in time that we will meet again._ **

**_If you wait, I will trust in time that we will meet again._ **

**_London Grammar, If You Wait_ **

* * *

It’s funny. I used to be sad about the thought that I’d outlive many of my friends.

Now that I’m dying, I wish I had just five more minutes.

Five minutes to say all the things I never said.

Five minutes and a final kiss.

Five minutes for one last smile.

In a flash, it’s all right there in front of me. Decades of memories. Decades of mistakes. Decades of sacrifices. Decades of achievements.

And I find it’s not quite enough.

I want more.

I want Vincent like air in my lungs. Want the smile he reserves only for me. Want the patient way he listens and allows me to come to my own conclusions. Want the way his hands run through my hair when he’s about to kiss me. Want the way he strips away the layers until I’m naked and vulnerable. Want the way his breath hitches in his throat when I’m slowly working his body into mine. I want the way he loves me more than anything I’ve ever wanted before.

It’s overwhelming. Frightening. And sad.

And everything that I’ve come to understand as love.

As the Lifestream flows through my throat and down into my lungs, it’s power enters me, kicks me back into consciousness and I’m consumed again by memories. Memories of what is, what was and what never will be.

I remember Cloud, when he was still _Cloud_ and not another version of Zack. He was so young. Innocent. Determined.

I think I fell in love with him that night at the well. It took a long time for me to get over that love and to understand that the boy that I cared for, the boy that existed that night, doesn’t exist anymore. It’s not his fault and I don’t blame him, but it doesn’t mean that I have to live my life pretending that I still love him.

Even though that’s how the story ended.

Even though that’s what was expected of me.

Even though I felt like shit for not being able to fix what was irrevocably broken.

I see us. In a different world. A world where Shinra didn’t destroy our town and our lives. We live in a little house in Nibelheim. Cloud’s mom visits, so does my dad. We’re happy. Different people. I smile more. Cloud laughs. We have a dog and, though we talked of having kids, it never seems to work out.

It’s fine though, we have each other.

We sit under the stars, like when we were young, and make up stories for the celestial bodies in the sky.

And we’re happy.

And then I see what is.

Cloud is alone and searching for the girl that got away. The girl who loved the shadow of a man that she thought she knew, but ended up loving the puppet just the same. I’m alone, but not for long. Vincent comes into my life.

We’re friends. More than friends, comrades and confidants. I find that, while I like to talk, Vincent is a great listener. And when he does talk, his few sentences amount to more than I can say in hours. He’s handsome. I never noticed when we were fighting for our lives, just noticed that dark intensity and sadness. He’s not as sad anymore, not since he said goodbye to Lucrecia and stopped blaming himself for Sephiroth.

And suddenly I’m Aerith. And she’s—I’m crying. Tseng is mumbling something about duty and being responsible for leading a team. He’s betrayed me. Come to take me to Shinra.

I can’t let him.

They’ll turn me into another one of their experiments.

_If Zack were here, this would never have happened. But he’s gone...and Cloud...Maybe Cloud will?_

Tseng looks conflicted. “We need to get out of here. This whole sector is about to be destroyed.”

“Destroyed?”

“They’re dropping the plate.”

“But everyone will die!”

Tseng shrugs. “You’re my only concern.”

“But you lived in Sector 7—there are good people here! We have to warn them!”

“That’s not our concern...” But he has the decency to look ashamed. He can’t look me in the eyes.

The memory shifts.

I’m Tifa. Confused by how Aerith can be so forgiving, so loving...after all she’s been through.

_Maybe if I was more like her, Cloud would..._

“Are we terrorists?” I ask Barrett.

He gruffly replies, “Freedom fighters.”

_Does the ends justify the means...? All those people died because they wanted to get rid of AVALANCHE. But draining the planet of mako...Were we wrong to fight Shinra the way we did?_

_Because of what we did, how we stopped Shinra and eventually Sephiroth, we still have a planet to live on._

_And Aerith...Her sacrifice saved us._

A memory of what’s yet to come?

I’ve lived a long time. I feel old, but I don’t look it. Vincent is with me. We talk about something that happened on the Highwind—something that happened with Cid and Red. Red’s still with us, but Cid has long since passed. So much time and so much death, but it’s not as sad as it used to be. I know where they are now. Where I can find them. Maybe, one day, I’ll get to be with my friends again in the Lifestream. But I wouldn’t want to leave Vincent. Not without him.

I hold his hand. It’s strong and cool in my grasp, something to do with how he’d been altered...So long ago.

I still own the house in Costa del Sol. We visit often. I’m in bed with him. We’ve just made love. Every time I’m with Vincent it’s special, but I love the afterglow the most. Laying against his chest, I can hear his irregular heartbeat. It’s comforting, even if it is an inward manifestation of the marks Shinra left on him.

He traces the curve of my spine. I trace the lines of his scars with my lips and tongue. He laughs, but it’s strained.

I give him a wicked smile and descend...

The memories fade. Getting black now. A hand takes mine. I’m not alone—is it Vincent?

A laugh—high and feminine—at my ear sounds so familiar.

I smile. I won’t die alone.

_Tifa. Don’t be so silly. As if I’d ever give up on you! Miss you...But now’s not the time._

Such a wonderful friend to me. I hope she knows how much I treasured her. The warmth surrounding me says that she does.

But now...

I only wish...

_Vincent...I love you..._

* * *

I stare out at the horizon. I’m on the Highwind. Everyone is chattering incessantly around me, but I’ve grown used to it.

Maybe even come to enjoy it.

But I’m worried.

_I hope Tifa is safe._

Such a little thought. Innocuous. But I feel something more bloom within me as I allow the words to take root within.

_I hope..._

_I want..._

_I need._

_But she belongs to him..._

_And I belong to the past._

But when I’m the first person she seeks out after managing to escape from Shinra, it gives me hope.

“Vincent!” she exclaims as she darts towards me, all boundless enthusiasm and positivity. _How does she do it?_

I’m more than slightly surprised when her arms wrap around me. Hold me tight. How long has it been since I was last touched by another? Especially with affection?

I can’t remember, but I find my body responds. My arms wrap around her, if a bit stiffly at first, and I barely manage to keep myself from bending forward and burying my face in her thick hair.

Reveling in her scent.

I’ll smell like her now. It’s going to drive me mad.

She looks up at me, eyes bright and happy. “I’m so glad you’re with us.”

I don’t know what to say, so I stick with, “So glad you’re alright, Tifa.”

She laughs a little, wasn’t what she was expecting? What _was_ she expecting? I let my arms drop a little, giving her an out, but she stays—tight and close.

“Did you miss me?” She looks hopeful. How could I tell her that I missed her like a piece of my own body? A phantom pain that only subsided once she bounded across the Highwind bridge and safely back into my life.

I settle for, “Yes, Tifa. I missed you.” It comes out a little hoarse, with more emotion than I’m used to showing, but she has a way of doing that to me.

Making me feel things that I’d long thought were suppressed.

Almost on their own, my fingers seek out the edge of her jaw, gently tilting her beautiful face upwards.

“Vincent?” she asks, voice husky. She licks her lips—Invitation? Unconscious reaction. I have to restrain myself from making more of this moment than first intended.

_Full. Plump. Gorgeous blush. I want to capture that lip between my teeth and then sooth my rough bite with little teasing kisses._

But I’m Vincent. And she’s Tifa.

So I lean forward with more bravado than I thought I possessed and place a gentle kiss on her brow.

My fingers tingle. My body wants to pull her in. Hold her close. Make her as senseless as she makes me, but it’s not right. Not now. She’s still Cloud’s...And I’m still Lucrecia’s...

_But maybe...One day, when we belong to ourselves again..._

I pull back slowly and give her a moment to adjust. With a smile and a nod, I move back and make my way towards the deck.

For the first time in a long time, I want a cigarette.

I want a drink.

I want _more._

But I’m patient and I can wait.

_I can wait forever._

* * *

_Tifa...Tifa...Wake up._

I hear a voice calling softly, but I ignore it. I know if I wake up, I’m going to have to face the reality of my situation.

_Cloud. Suffering the effects of Mako poisoning. Mideel all but destroyed. I can just stay asleep and forget it all happened._

But the voice is insistent. And slightly unexpected...? _Who’s calling me?_

Vincent is calling me.

_I need you to come back to me, Tifa. I don’t want to do this without you..._

A pause. Voice hoarse with emotion. _“I love you.”_

Vincent loves me? What do I matter to him? I’m just some mercenary girl, trying to stop a madman from destroying the planet.

_Except..._

It’s been a decade since Mideel was destroyed by Weapon.

 _You’re so close. Just a little further,_ a light and airy voice urges me.

_We’ll see each other again one day. But not today...Today, someone is waiting for you._

And I can _feel_ her smile.

It’s warm and bright and I miss it terribly.

_And then, it clicks._

The Lifestream has the power to keep memories alive, kind of like a collective consciousness. At least, that’s what it’s always seemed like.

Aerith’s smile.

Cloud’s past.

Sephiroth’s insanity.

All exist within the Lifestream. Time is endless and eternal. We’re all alive because we were never born, we were always a part of the Lifestream and it was always a part of us.

And in this way, it calls out for us to protect it from those who would harness its powers for evil. Keep it safe forever. For us.

And sometimes, it protects us as well. Keeps our memories safe so that, if we forget, it can help us remember.

And now I know.

I know why I remember seeing Vincent on the Highwind. It’s the moment I started to fall in love with him, even as I tried to convince myself that I was supposed to settle for Cloud. To try and fix him.

Vincent was broken, but so was I. The difference is that while Vincent and I work together, Cloud was only ever able to work with himself.

And I don’t blame him, not anymore. He’s been through so much. But I don’t have to put up with it. I know I can do better—and I have.

Once upon a time, it was my voice calling out for Cloud that brought him back from the depths of the Lifestream, and now...

_It’s Vincent calling mine._

* * *

I fight to regain consciousness because it _hurts_ and parts of me want to slip back into that beautiful oblivion, free of pain and expectation.

But other parts fight. Want and need and claw me back to life.

Back to _him._

Strong arms are wrapped around me, holding me tight against a warm body. Someone lays me on my side and I choke up what feels like a bucket of Lifestream.

“I guess we’re even for the Behemoth,” says a wry voice, but it sounds relieved and emotional.

_Vincent!_

I can’t talk. Too much liquid in my lungs. But I cough and sputter and drag myself closer to him. I wrap myself around his legs and just hold tight while my body tries to rid itself of excess water.

He holds me back and is kind enough to pretend not to notice when I start to cry. I hate crying, but I hate almost losing him more.

We can die. The Lifestream could flow in and replace the air in our lungs and drown us. Take us forever. We might not age, but we’re not invincible.

Sometimes, I forget. Even as the materia puts us back together. Even as Vincent’s accelerated healing keeps him safe. I forget and then life comes along and gives me a huge fucking reminder.

We sit together. Wet and cold, but alive.

“I love you,” I say, and I mean it. I’ve known for a while, but I never said it. Too scared that he wouldn’t say it back. Too afraid of getting my heart broken again, but now I don’t care. If I die someday, I don’t want Vincent to not know how I feel.

Even if he doesn’t say it back when I’m conscious.

He’s silent for a long time. Long enough that I start to get pretty anxious, but then I just let it all go. It’s fine. He doesn’t need to say it. I know he loves me and I know how hard that is for him.

His fingers get lost in my thick, wet hair and I turn my face to kiss the palm of his hand. He pulls me up along his body and buries his face in the curve of my neck. Holds me tighter.

“I love you, Tifa,” he replies, so softly I almost don’t hear him.

I laugh a little. “I know.”

Covered in Lifestream and blood and sweat and tears, it’s the most soul-shattering, complete, romantic moment of my life.

I love him so much it hurts and I’m so grateful for the chance to finally let him know.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he says into my hair.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” I try to joke, but he just holds me closer. The coppery scent of his blood reaches my nose and I realize just how closer _I_ got to losing _him._

“Let’s not do this again, okay?” I suggest.

“Agreed,” he agrees.

It looks like the Lifestream spat us out into one of the rivers that runs along Mount Nibel. I shuffle a bit and dig around for my PHS and luckily it’s not dead—thank the gods for my waterproof case.

GPS says we’re not too far from where our rendezvous point is, which is welcome as hell.

Both Vincent and I are beat and exhausted.

We manage to get ourselves up and I do a quick heal with some materia, but we’re going to need stronger spells and _actual_ medicine. Vincent and I are able to hobble our way back to the meeting point, to the pleasure of a very much relieved Reeve, who then radios for everyone else to stop looking for us.

We sit on a makeshift bed as one of Reeve’s medics uses cure on us, then cleans and binds Vincent’s wounds.

“We thought you two were dead,” Reeve says and he has the decency to sound more than a little guilty.

“You should be so lucky, Reeve,” I promise with a cough. Lifestream’s still making its way out of my lungs. The medic checks to make sure that I’m not at risk for secondary drowning, but it looks like I’ll be fine.

“Were you able to track Sephiroth?” I ask. The whole situation is so weird. We’d thought that the experiments had all been destroyed during our run through the reactor. How could they still be functional after all this time? Was there more going on here than I’d thought?

“No, but I’m assigning a team,” Reeve says distractedly while his PHS frantically rings.

“He saved Vincent and I. I don’t think this Sephiroth is like the one we hunted,” I offer. Reeve gives me a short nod, but I know he’s planning on being more cautious with this. Last thing he needs is another end of the world scenario because he didn’t take a threat seriously enough.

Maybe the Lifestream was giving Sephiroth another chance at life? Certainly wouldn’t surprise me, I mean, I’m still here—and Vincent, too.

Is it all one big choice? Aerith felt that she needed to become one with the Lifestream, like Bugenhagen, but what happens if you don’t want to become a part of the Lifestream? What if you want to live outside of that mythical and mysterious world? Did it care? _Could_ it care?

I know I didn’t want to die. Know that I put that out there and that _someone_ was listening.

And the Lifestream pushed me right back into Vincent’s arms.

Sometimes, we’re given a choice. Not always, but I think if you want something bad enough, your will can determine the outcome.

And I was determined to live my life with Vincent.

And he with me.

Was it the same for Sephiroth? Who was waiting for him to return? Did he have someone in his corner, cheering him on? Hoping that he’d go out and live a life, free of sadness and Shinra?

I hoped so. As much as I’ve lost because of him, I’ve long since forgiven him. Still afraid of him, most definitely. But forgiven.

It’s impossible to move on when you hold on to the darkness of the past.

And now...Vincent’s lips on the shell of my ear bring me back into the moment.

“I was thinking we might take this further,” his deep voice rumbles, a delicious shiver flowing through my body in its wake.

“Oh? How so?” I turn and curl into him, tucking my face into the curve of his neck. I make sure that my lips tease and pull at his skin as he replies, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his wandering hands are urging me on.

_That poor medic. No wonder she’s over with Reeve now._

Voice low with desire and emotion he suggests, “Move in together?”

I sigh against his neck and, for a moment, it seems like he’s tensing for rejection. _Silly, Vincent._

“It’s high-time you suggested that. I’ve only been on your ass about a permanent residence for, oh, I don’t know, _years._ ”

He laughs and I nuzzle my nose into his throat, delighted.

“So it’s not a problem then?” he asks as he traces the claws of his gauntlet along the curve of my hip. _Dangerous. Sexy. Loving._

_He’s so much to me._

I purr a little before answering. “Not as long as you’re able to do your own laundry.” I slip a hand low and slowly drag my nails along the inside of his thigh.

_Private. We need to get somewhere private._

Almost dying brings _a lot_ of things into sharp focus. Desire. Love. Sadness. Happiness. And right now I wanted to work on getting _very_ happy with Vincent.

_And very naked._

Vincent startles me when he speaks over my head, “Reeve, how long before we regroup? Tifa is exhausted. I’m going to take her to the inn.”

Reeve gave Vincent an odd look. Vincent isn’t usually direct, more like a voice of reason, but when he wants something, Vincent gets it.

“Oh, that’s fine, Vincent. Take a buggy. We’ll debrief later at the inn.” Reeve seems to understand Vincent’s protective vibe and sends us off with a wave.

A short time later, we’re at the inn.

Reeve has the entire inn on reserve, so I grab a key from the front desk and we slowly make our way up the stairs and into one of the private rooms.

We’re both hurt.

And exhausted.

And completely unwilling to let each other out of our sights.

“Shower?” I suggest. I’m not planning for it to be super sexy, because we’re both pretty disgusting from the Lifestream and, you know, almost dying, but if anything happens—I’m not going to stop it.

“Please. Help me with the bandages?” Is his voice deeper than normal? We’ve never showered together, so it’ll be a new experience for us both.

_Slippery, wet, Vincent. Yes, please!_

Now to keep from hurting each other.

The bathroom is small and the shower even smaller, but we’ll make it work.

I help peel the leather from Vincent’s body, which takes longer than I’d anticipated.

“How do you do this by yourself?” I ask, exasperated.

“I’m an early riser and I have a lot of patience.”

“I can see why you stopped wearing your armor fulltime, this shit is ridiculous!” Okay, so maybe I’d thought it was ridiculously _hot_ once, but now that I have to take it off, I’m missing the simplicity of slacks and sweaters.

When only his pants are left, I leave Vincent to his own devices and work on my own clothes.

“The skirts were for mobility and ease of taking off later,” I start as I pull my top off.

“So it wasn’t just to distract our enemies?” Vincent teases as his eyes lower to my chest.

I flick the clasp of my bra open and let my breasts spill out.

“Sorry, what were you saying, Vincent? Distract who?”

He licks his lips before answering and my nipples bud in reaction.

_Oh, please, please do what I think you want to!_

“I’m not going to make it out of this shower in one piece, am I?” he says, voice strained.

I turn away from him and slip my pants and panties off before teasingly pull my hair up, exposing the curve of my neck. “That depends on how flexible you are, Vincent.”

He lets out a low laugh.

_Forget Vincent. This is going to ruin solo showers for the rest of my life._

And I was _absolutely_ right.

* * *

We lose track of time in the shower.

And the bed.

And eventually I _know_ they’re all back and waiting for us, but I can’t bring myself to care. Between the exhaustion, the pain and the lethargy that comes after _really_ amazing sex, I just don’t want to move.

“I’m never going to get any work done if this is what it’s going to be like living with you,” I purr against Vincent’s sculpted stomach.

I feel as he laughs. “There are worse problems, Tifa.”

“Hnn,” I give a typical Vincent reply. “I guess you’ll still leave town for contracts?”

I find I’m not a huge fan of that. I hate worrying about him, but I know he needs to get out of the city more than I need it. I love the anonymity that comes from being in a big group of people that I don’t know, but I know Vincent craves the stillness and quiet that only comes from nature.

That and it keeps his need to transform at bay.

“Hnn,” he mimics me and I laugh and nibble his stomach. _Abs for days..._

“But you’ll be back more frequently now?” I ask, hopeful.

“Yes. I don’t think I could stand it now.” The absence. The distance between us. Bit by bit, our walls crumbled, leaving only our essences behind—exposed.

I’ve never let anyone know me the way Vincent knows me and I’m sure it’s the same for him. He was a best friend before a _boyfriend_ and I find I love that.

And I love him.

My hand moves in lazy circles against his abdomen and eventually I notice _something else_ is responding to my touch.

“You’re insatiable,” I say, eyebrow raised, but I’m teasing and he knows it.

With a laugh, I find myself pinned with my hands over my head as Vincent’s delicious body slowly grinds into mine.

“Oh, Vincent,” I gasp, breathless.

He gives me a shameless smirk before his lips capture mine once, twice—and then he enters me and I manage a moan against his mouth.

Captured. Bound by his love. And he by mine.

I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of Vincent and I know it’s the same for him.

Because we still have a lot of life left to live.

I’m not exactly sure what happens next, but it doesn’t really matter. I’ve finally come to realize that life is what I make of it, not what happens to me.

With Vincent, I know we’ll make something special together.

~FIN~

* * *

 

**OMFG. OMFG. OMFG. I fucking finished something. What the actual fuck? Okay, so this was a bit more emotional for me than I’d anticipated, but I think that might have been why I’ve avoided doing it for so long. Sheesh, SHOUT THE FUCK OUT to all the people who have stuck with this over the years and who poked and prodded and reviewed, etc. YOU ALL are the MVP. Without you, I’d have never finished.**

**It’s funny considering that I write a lot more now than I ever did when I started this, but I don’t think I’d be in the place where I am now if I didn’t start with this. This story was a lot of things for me and I’m so happy you’re here to share the journey with me.**

**I still love writing Fanfiction, so I’ll keep doing that till my fingers fall off, even if I don’t have as much time for it as I used to. And, who knows, maybe I’ll be even more inspired after FF7 Remake comes out (VINCENT. HD. I might be able to die happy). Though I’m thinking Reno or Sephiroth might get a tale of their own eventually. We’ll see.**

**Anyways. Love you, thank you! Hope you enjoyed! Any mistakes are my own!**

**ALSO: “So glad you’re alright, Tifa.” Not my line. Quote from the game!**


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